


The Secret of Distance

by Lil_Redhead



Category: Anne of Green Gables - L. M. Montgomery, Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: F/M, Post Season 3, Some smoochin', and also me fulfilling my desire to let them have A CONVERSATION, anne & gilbert: courting edition, generally a lot of fluff, season 4 according to me!, some letter exchangin', some reunions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:28:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 41,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21568393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lil_Redhead/pseuds/Lil_Redhead
Summary: Anne and Gilbert embark on their journeys, but stay close to each other at heart. Courting across 1000 miles isn't easy, but they're more than willing to step up to the task. (A post s3 story).
Relationships: Gilbert Blythe & Anne Shirley, Gilbert Blythe/Anne Shirley
Comments: 553
Kudos: 1291





	1. (1.01) Was it You 'Mid the Fire and the Ember?

**Author's Note:**

> What a journey this season was. I so enjoyed writing for all of you and reading the stories you published. I even met some new kindred spirits! ♥ Thank you for all your love, and I hope you enjoy!!

_“It was all I wanted for the longest time- to open my eyes and see you there. To stretch out my hand and touch the soft, yielding warmth of your skin. But now I have learned the secret of distance. Now I know being close to you was never about the proximity” - Lang Leav_

~~*~~

There wasn’t much Anne could do except lay back on her unfamiliar bed and create constellations from the cracks in the ceiling. Her heart was so full in her chest that it weighed her down against her mattress, and she reveled in the feeling. Could a person die from so much happiness? Her mother’s book on the language of flowers laid against her breast right above her heart, and she swore its lingering traces of motherly love seeped into her skin like stale perfume in an empty bottle. 

Diana’s quiet footsteps land in the doorway, but her beloved kindred spirit merely allowed Anne to exist in the quiet of the room. Anne’s happiness bled out of her like sun rays, and it was all Diana can do to keep looking at her.

Then, with the unexpected haste of a well cranked jack-in-the-box, Anne sat up in bed and gave Diana a stunned look.

“I want to hear the whole story,” Anne murmured, half-rushed, half dazed. “Whatever did you say to him?” 

Diana stepped into the room, admiring the cleanness of her bed across from Anne’s. She settled at the side of her best friend’s mattress and crinkled her eyebrows sheepishly.

“I might’ve read him the riot act after he told my father he wasn’t engaged,” Diana began. The guilt in her voice drained away and she grabbed Anne’s hand. “Dearest, he never received your letter. You should’ve seen his face when I told him there was one.” 

Anne’s jaw dropped. She stammered for words, “I...But I left it...How do you even miss a letter like that in broad daylight?” She blanched. Regret dripped into each of her words as she said, “Oh, I know exactly how. For instance, if a person where to, say, tear up the letter before reading it and then throw it out her gable window…” Anne groaned. “What did it say!?” 

Diana, piecing together the rambles, grabbed Anne’s pen from her side table and handed it to her. 

“You can just ask him, you know.” 

Anne held the pen in her hand as if it were made of solid gold and jeweled with ancient crystals. For some reason the sight of it makes her remember him at her doorstep, chest heaving from running. His eyes had been filled with such overflowing devotion that Anne thought she’d drown the closer she grew to him, but there was no where else she wanted to be. The overwhelming feeling begins to fill her chest once more and she takes a deep breath.

“Are you scared of what he’ll say?” Diana questioned quietly. Shaking her head, Anne bit her lips and tried to remember the exact feeling of when Gilbert had kissed her.

“No, something tells me that anything he has to say will be such wonderful poetry.”

“Gilbert isn’t very poetic.” 

“On the contrary, dearest Diana, there is always something inherently poetic when a man reveals to you the contents of his heart.” 

Diana grabbed one of Anne’s pillows and stuffed it against her chest. For a moment, Anne wondered if it was insensitive, talking of love when Diana had ended her own romance with Jerry so abruptly. But then Diana smirked and plopped down unceremoniously on the bed.

“I see how it is! You kiss a boy once and suddenly you’re an expert?” she teased. A thrill went down Anne’s spine and she smothered a squeal with both hands over her face. 

“ _Three_ times, Diana! We kissed _three times!_ ” she shrieked, so lovesick that Diana couldn’t help but laugh. She couldn’t wait until they told Cole, and Aunt Jo, and-

“You kissed _whom_ three times, Anne?!” 

Anne and Diana’s laughter ended abruptly on their lips when Josie Pye came into the room. She was followed by the other three girls, who waited on baited breath for Anne’s answer. Biting back a chuckle, Anne did her best to keep her face neutral. They all looked so silly! Ruby’s eyes were wider than Anne knew they could be, and Tilly was pressing her lips together to physically lock back all of her questions. 

Anne and Diana righted themselves on the bed, backs straight like the proper ladies they were. She spoke in the most neutral tone she could muster - which was not very impressive, considering how happy she was to be confessing that she had kissed - “Gilbert.”

Their jaws dropped to the floor with a silent _BANG,_ and Anne wondered if maybe one of them still liked Gilbert, after all. Her doubt only lasted a second, and suddenly the room erupted in shouts of triumph and delight and confusion. They threw questions at her, all of which Anne tried to answer as best she could.

“ _Gilbert Blythe!?_ Anne, you never said you liked him! When did you start-” 

“Earlier this year! Maybe always? Definitely always.” 

“Is he good at kissing?” 

“I don’t have much experience to base it off of, but it was incredibly perfect” 

“I thought he was _engaged_ to-”

“I thought so too, but apparently he ended things with her to pursue his ‘unrequited love.’” 

“Unrequited love?” Diana cut in. “He really thought you didn’t return his feelings?” 

Anne shrugged.

“There were a lot of misunderstandings, I think. I still don’t know for sure how it all transpired.” 

There was a pause before Jane crossed her arms.

“Well, where is he?” 

A twinge of disappointment hit the back of Anne’s heart. This day had been so beautiful in ways that even she could not have imagined, but the entire summer could have been that way if she hadn’t been so…so _foolish_! All they’d been given was a few moments before he was swept away to Toronto. Her little twinge of disappointment was overshadowed by how proud she was, and how much she loved him, but it was present enough that her eyes fell to the floor. 

“He’s attending University of Toronto. Miss Stacey contacted a friend of hers, I think. He said it was imperative he arrive today. It’s quite a long train ride, so that’s where he is right now.” 

Anne couldn’t help but smile. How sweet he looked from the back of the carriage. She had half a mind that he would’ve given up college right then and there if she asked him to stay. As wonderful as it would have been to spend the afternoon in his arms, kissing and clearing up all the confusions, his future came first. Now that she was part of it, she didn’t feel so afraid to let him go off into that bright, expansive world.

“So I guess that means you’re courting him now,” Ruby said excitedly. 

Anne looked down at the pen in her hand, then at her group of friends. Was she? Anne _wanted_ to court him, even if it was for a long time. Not to mention, he’d broken off his courtship for her. Anne’s stomach fell to the floor when a rush of affection overtook her. Gilbert Blythe had turned down a girl who was everything Anne had once wanted to be, _and_ the Sorbonne, so that he could try again with her. 

“I...I suppose I am courting him, in a long distance sort of way,” Anne concluded carefully. “I’m adding that to my list of follow up questions. I want to know for sure.”

“We’re happy for you, Anne,” Diana said, placing her head on Anne’s shoulder. Resting her cheek on Diana’s new updo, Anne heaved a sigh of relief. What a gift days like today were, where Providence proved he had not left her behind. Wrapping her fingers around Diana’s, Anne brought their hands up to her lips. 

“Shocked, but happy,” Josie supplied in a Pye-ish voice. “But can we eat now? I came up to tell you lunch is ready?” 

The girls began to file down the hallway, their footsteps echoing against the tall walls of the house as they clambered down the stairs. Diana stood in the doorway once more, watching as Anne pressed a kiss to the pen in her hand and placed it on her bedside table. There’d be time for writing letters later. For now, Anne had her own future to step into once and for all.

~~*~~

The moonlit peace of the evening hours was Anne’s favorite time to put her heart to paper. As she sat down at her new desk, she wondered if pen and paper had ever been put to better use.

> _Dear Gilbert,_
> 
> _I look like my mother. I look so much like her, in fact, that for a brief moment I thought I was looking down at my own reflection. But the glorious name “Bertha” was scribed atop the portrait, and an equally lovely name was signed across the bottom, “Walter.” How those names fill me with such warmth to say on my lips._
> 
> _I do believe I’m leaving out an integral part of this story. Matthew and Marilla visited today. They had gone to see a woman I lived with as a child and brought with them a book on the language of flowers. (Expect some pressed blossoms in your near future, I have much I’d like to say to you!) The darling book had once belonged to my parents, and it was there my father sketched a portrait of my mother._
> 
> _I will be forever astonished at how a girl like me, who had such meager beginnings, could come upon such a wonderful family! Not only Marilla and Matthew, but the kindred spirits I’ve collected along the way. (Of course, your name is written on that list and underlined twice.) Today has taught me an eternal appreciation for love, and I find myself overwhelmed by the intensity of it. I wonder if you know the feeling._
> 
> _As you’ll recall, I have several follow-up questions, but in exchange for your honest answers, I feel it’s only fair to offer you some explanations of my own. It’s just that I’m unsure where to begin. What do you already know? Hmm…The beginning is as good a place to start as any._
> 
> _Gilbert, you must understand that love is such a young concept to me. I have only been on the receiving side of love since shortly after arriving at Green Gables, before which, I’d never even observed it with my own eyes. I’ve had being loved by family mastered for quite some time, thanks to Marilla and Matthew, but allowing you to come into my heart was so much different. Trying to translate what I’d read in books and compare it with what I truly felt was much harder than I anticipated._
> 
> _Oh, it wasn’t the loving part that was hard. Loving you is as easy and breathtaking as stargazing from my new window. But realizing it, letting it happen, allowing myself to believe that a person like you could care for me...that was where the difficulties arose. It wasn’t until everything was still and I was nearly perfectly content that you hit me like a roll of thunder. I sat up in my bed and exclaimed, “I’m in love with Gilbert Blythe!” Gave Diana quite the scare._
> 
> _I’m sorry it took so long for me to come to my senses. Part of me wonders what would have happened if I’d realized sooner. Nevertheless, I’m exceedingly grateful that you appeared at my doorstep today, as magnificent as ever, to take one last chance._
> 
> _You’re likely curious about the note I wrote you. To be honest, I cannot explain to you why you never received it. I left it right underneath the water jug on your kitchen table. I wonder where it is now. Thankfully, the contents of the letter were quite short and, in more ways than one, sweet. I’ve inserted a new copy inside this letter so that you can have what you were originally meant to have._
> 
> _There are more questions I have, but I think I’d rather hear what’s on your mind first. (Not that I can mail this until you write to me first with your return address.) There is one thing I will ask because, though I’m 99% certain I know the answer, I’d like to be entirely certain: are we courting? If you’re waiting to hear what I think on the matter first, I’d like to court you, even if it’s a four year process. Or longer. Truly, Gilbert, all I want is you._
> 
> _Oh - and how much does train fare cost from PEI to Toronto? I’d like to start saving as soon as possible to come see you._
> 
> _Alright, my love, I think I have sufficiently taken up an adequate amount of your time. Please know that I’m thinking of you during your first days of college, and I already miss you beyond words._
> 
> _Yours always,_
> 
> _Anne_
> 
> _(PS: Where in the world did you learn to kiss like that? No - don’t tell me, I don’t want to know.)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: Gilbert sends a few letters of his own, and reads one over and over and over.
> 
> If you wanna cry together, I'm on tumblr ~@royalcordelia!


	2. (1.02) A Thousand Miles From The Place I Was Born

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gilbert greets Toronto, his new apartment, and his peculiar roommate. But he doesn't forget about home, nor the redhead he loves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I've got a cold/headache y'all, so I'm posting this without proofreading it. As always, take pity on your suffering fic writer).
> 
> Thank you so so so much to everyone who left feedback on the first chapter! I'm so glad this could soothe a few hearts. I hope Gilbert's letters in this chapter have the same effect. The chapter title comes from a song, "Arms of a Woman" which I think fits a lot with Gilbert when he's away from home.

Gilbert had grown so accustomed to the rattling of the window on the side of his face, that as the train slowed to a stop, he roused from his sleep. Around him, passengers shuffled on tired feet down the aisle of the train, but Gilbert squinted tiredly, adjusting to his surroundings. Where was he again? 

Outside the train, a sign was lit up by electric light bulbs: “Welcome to Toronto, Ontario.”

 _Oh, that’s right,_ he thought to himself, _I’m going to medical school._ At 4:30 in the morning it seemed. As he grabbed his trunk, his brain felt like it was trudging through mud. He’d left PEI on a ship to the mainland, then situated himself on the train for a fifteen hour trip. And he had kissed Anne. 

_That_ woke Gilbert up. He had kissed Anne at exactly noon yesterday, and she had kissed him back. He _kissed_ Anne. She tasted the way he expected sunshine would taste if you could jar it like honey. She fit perfectly against him when he pulled her close, drawn to him as strongly as he was to her. Soft hair framed her face, feathery tufts that grazed his fingers when he held her cheek. He’d never forget the sight of her, so beautifully grown, yet so breathtakingly _Anne_. The thought was distracting enough that he didn’t realize his footsteps had slowed to a halt in the middle of the path. 

He might’ve stood there forever, burning the memory of Anne’s kiss into his mind, but a drunkard rambled past him, colliding with his shoulder. Gilbert stumbled on his feet, righting his coat on his shoulders with a bristled frown. He needed to find his new apartment before he was swept away into whatever unsavory things happened at four in the morning.

From one of his hidden inside pockets, he pulled out a note in Miss Stacy’s familiar script. 

_Gilbert,_

_Emily couldn’t get you into a boarding house because of your late admission. She does, however, know a young man who has an extra room in his apartment. He’s agreed to let you board with him, and will leave the door unlocked so you may let yourself in. You’ll find Ronald Stuart at 293 North Sunset St - the right hand apartment._

_Good luck on all your endeavors! I know you’ll outshine all our expectations._

_Your Exceedingly-Proud Educator,_

_Miss Muriel Stacy_

Gilbert didn’t know much about this Ronald Stuart, but had sent the young man a letter telling him when to expect him. Part of him was glad he wouldn’t be living under the supervision of an owner of a boarding house, like Anne certainly would be. If he found this Ronald Stuart agreeable, they could become close friends and enact their own rules, answering only to themselves and to each other. 

The house on 293 North Sunset St. was a sizeable place built of bricks the same color as the PEI roads back home. Gilbert snuck as quietly as he could up the creaky stairs leading to the door of his new apartment, before twisting the door knob. Stubbornly, it refused to budge. 

Gilbert peeked at the house number, then his note, then tried the door again, this time with more strength. Maybe Ronald hadn’t gotten his letter in time? Maybe he’d forgotten to leave the door unlocked. 

There was nothing to do about it. He rapped his knuckles hard enough on the door that the noise likely could be heard by the next door neighbors. Even so, the door remained closed. The chilly August air was beginning to sink into his bones. Gilbert knocked again, more aggressively this time. 

“I hear ya, I hear ya!” came a voice from inside the house. Gilbert took a step back from the door, steeling himself for whatever would come once the door opened. A shadowy figure appeared behind the curtains before the door swung open. 

Gilbert cleared his throat. “Mr. Stuart?” 

The fellow before him was a tall one, lanky with hard angles. His dark hair was a mop upon his head where long, straight hair stuck out in all directions. Long eyebrows quirked back at Gilbert, who clenched his jaw. 

“Gil?” the man answered back. Gilbert cocked his head. No one called him Gil. Not even Bash or Anne. 

“Yes, that’s me. Gilbert Blythe. The door was locked, otherwise I’d have let myself in.” 

Ronald ran a hand through his hair, tousling it into an even greater mess. He stepped aside and let Gilbert enter the space. 

“I was real glad was Dr. Oak reached out to me about you coming to stay,” Ronald explained with a yawn. “The last fellow who stayed here graduated last spring, and I’ve been having trouble paying for the whole apartment myself. It’s not much, but it’s plenty for two men to share.” 

Gilbert pulled an envelope from his pocket and handed it to his new roommate. Inside was the first of four months’ worth of rent payments. Bash had promised to send Gilbert his share of the farm’s earnings in plenty of time each month for him to pay his debts. 

“That reminds me, this is for you,” Gilbert said. Ronald only tossed the envelope on a nearby table and leaned against it, tired eyes examining his new roommate. 

“You drink?” he asked. Gilbert couldn’t tell if the man was offering or judging. 

“No,” he replied, shaking his head. 

“You snore?” 

Gilbert frowned. “...Not...that I know of?” 

Ronald shrugged and headed up the stairs. 

“We can talk in afternoon. I’m going back to sleep. Your room is up the stairs on the right. Mine’s on the left. There’s one more empty room, for guests I guess, if you ever have any.” 

Gilbert bit the inside of his cheek. Would the people from home ever come all the way to Toronto just to see him? Adjusting his cases in his hands, Gilbert took a deep breath. 

“Alright, thank you.” But Ronald had already gone. 

Outside, the street echoed silence around, giving it an eerie stillness. If he hadn’t been so tired, he might’ve felt the weight of being so far away from home and his family. But exhaustion prevailed in numbing his thoughts, and he found his bed without any welcoming ceremony. Laying fully dressed on top of his blankets, Gilbert fell deep into sleep. 

*

“You a novelist or something?” 

Gilbert looked up from the kitchen table and found Ronald in the doorway. He must’ve looked like some sort of writer, with pages upon pages of inked words spread across the table in front of him. A mug of coffee steamed at both places and at the table, and Gilbert nodded down to it. Ronald accepted it appreciatively, sipping it with a satisfied smile. In the daylight, and perhaps after bathing, the man seemed to have a sophisticated air about him that came solely from his looks and upbringing, and not his attitude.

“No, I’m just writing some letters home. There are a few people who’d want to know I made it here in one piece,” Gilbert replied, somewhat nostalgic for home. His gaze found the opening line of the paper in front of him: _My Anne..._

“Where is home, anyway?” 

“Avonlea, PEI.” 

“That far away, eh? No wonder you wandered up to the house so early this morning. Can’t say I’ve ever heard of Avonlea, though.” Gilbert nodded politely, not sure how much Ronald Stuart wanted to share about himself or how much he wanted to share in return. “I’m Ron, by the way. I apologize that I’m not terribly friendly before seven in the morning.” 

Gilbert chuckled and shook his head. 

“I guess I didn’t realize the trip would be over sixteen hours. Sorry for waking you up.” 

Ron got up from the table, grabbing some bread from the breadbox and shoving a piece into his mouth. 

“What made you want to come here, anyway?” 

“Ah, my teacher from home knows Dr. Oak. I was initially intending on attending the, uh...well, the Sorbonne in France, but I changed my mind.” 

The expression on Ron’s face told Gilbert he was not convinced.

“Yeah right, you just weren’t accepted. That or you can’t speak french.” 

“No, I was accepted - or as good as, anyway. I just chose not to go.” Gilbert paused. “But you’re right, I don’t speak french very well.” 

Ron’s jaw dropped. 

“I didn’t take you for an idiot, Gilbert.” 

Gilbert straightened his shoulders, crossing his arms defensively. 

“It’s a long story, one that I’m sure would make perfect sense if you were to hear it.” He paused. Would this Ronald Stuart be convinced that genuine love was more valuable than an educational opportunity? “But to tell the truth, I’d like to just write these letters and get them sent out before the post is collected in a few hours.” Ron held up his hands in surrender and trekked back up to his room. 

Returned to silence, Gilbert tilted his face to the sun pouring in from the kitchen window. He wondered if Anne was enjoying the same warmth on her first day of school. Picking his pen back up, he continued to write.

> _My Anne,_
> 
> _I cannot think of a more wonderful way to start a letter. It does my heart such good knowing that wherever you are, you might be anticipating this specific correspondence. I’d like to begin this particular letter by informing you that I have made it to Toronto safe and sound - albeit at four in the morning! I haven’t been on a train for such a long period of time since I traveled with my father. Should you still desire to be my penpal (though I hope you’ll want to be a much more than penpals) you’ll find my complete address on the envelope. North Sunset street is just as beautiful as it sounds._
> 
> _Have I beat around the bush with enough formality? I may as well jump right in._
> 
> _Anne, what a fool I’ve been. I’ve had sixteen hours to compose the perfect way to reveal to you in extensive detail all the ways I’ve been a fool, but I fear I don’t have your gift with language, so you will just have to tolerate my inadequate explanations. As Diana might have informed you, I never received your letter, and for the sake of clarity and fairness, I’m going to assume that you never received mine._
> 
> _I want to eradicate every doubt in your mind. Anne, I never had any real feelings for Winifred. I have learned the hard way that there is a vast difference between enjoying someone’s company and genuine love. When you love someone, you don’t just enjoy their company. You ache until the next moment you see that person, yet they’re always with you - in your mind, in your heart. The extent to which I adore you and take pride in your existence is so overwhelming that I wonder why I thought I could ever settle for anything else. Is it bold for me to hope you feel the same way? I truly do love you, Anne._
> 
> _With all that disclosed, I’m certain there are times when I made you feel like I didn’t care for you at all. For that, I hope you know how very ashamed and sorry I am. You won’t ever feel like that again, I promise. If, in our separation, you grow doubtful or lonely, I’ll be on the first train bound for Charlottetown._
> 
> _As for follow up questions:_
> 
>   1. _Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, when in heaven’s name did you start to have feelings for me? Most days I was certain I’d never win your heart, but then I’d catch you looking across the classroom and think maybe it wasn’t so hopeless after all._
>   2. _Did you receive the letter I left you in your room? You never said anything, so I wondered. Oh! And what did your letter say? I’m so bitter that it disappeared._
>   3. _Are you well? How are you adjusting to being away from home? I know Green Gables was so precious to you. How is Queens? Do your new classmates adore you, yet? I’m certain they do._
> 

> 
> _I’m sure I will have more questions the more I fondly remember each encounter I’ve had with you, but for now, I won’t bombard you._
> 
> _As for me, I’m better now that I’ve arrived to Toronto and have unpacked all my things. My roommate, Ron, is a peculiar brand, and it’s still unclear as to whether or not he is - as you’d say - a kindred spirit. So far, I have my doubts. We’ve known each other all of eight hours and he’s already called me an idiot. But we have our own bedrooms, and there’s more than enough space for the two of us, so I can’t complain. Class begins tomorrow, but I’ve some final paperwork to complete. I hope to explore the campus and learn all the hidden nooks where a medical student might read and daydream about his love back home._
> 
> _I still have to write to Bash, and I want to send this as soon as possible, so I’ll conclude here. I miss you terribly already. Yet, how thankful I am that we got the time we did._ _Know that I remain always_
> 
> _Yours,_
> 
> _Gilbert_
> 
> _(PS: My roommate called me Gil at our first meeting. I’ve not decided if I like it yet, but maybe if you call me by that name, I’ll warm up to it.)_
> 
> _(PPS: Is it too much trouble if I ask you to enclose a picture of yourself, or something that I can keep on my bedside table that will remind me of you?)_

Gilbert had just folded the letter up and sealed it, when Ron came back into the room. In his hand was a picture frame that Gilbert recognized immediately. 

“Who’s this?” Ron asked. 

Gilbert snatched the frame, eyes icy. 

“Were you going through my things?” 

“I was just leaving some clean linens, and I saw it on your table. Not trying to pry, but I’m...curious.” 

Gilbert peered down at the frame, and felt a wave of homesickness sweep over him. It was a photograph he’d had taken shortly before Hazel had come to live in the house. It had been difficult to find a photographer who wouldn’t fall prey to their prejudices. 

“It’s my brother and my niece,” he explained. Ron seemed to sense the thin ice he stood on, so he nodded. 

“She’s sweet,” he commented, nodding down at Delphine’s bright eyes. 

“The sweetest,” Gilbert agreed, pushing away the photograph when he felt his throat close up. They were silent for a few moments when Ron fixed his eyes on Gilbert.

“Why didn’t you go to the Sorbonne?” he asked evenly. Gilbert matched the serious gaze, unashamed of his choices.

“I would’ve had to marry a girl I didn’t love, and leave behind the one I do.” 

Ron’s face didn’t change, but the lack of judgement was slightly promising. 

“Family _and_ love, huh? Wish I could relate.” Then he spun on his heels and headed toward the front door. “Well, I’m off.” 

“Oh, uh, bye?” 

The tense, awkward air in the room evaporated when the door slammed behind Ron. A long exhale left Gilbert’s lips and he grabbed a clean sheet of paper. This letter to Bash continued much like his letter to Anne’s had, full of apprehension about Ronald Stuart and anxiousness about the impending start of school. He’d exhausted all of his mildly uninteresting topics before he added:

> _I do have some news that might interest you. Anne and I are...well, I don’t know for certain what we are. Courting? Yes likely. More than friends? Absolutely. Together? In every way a man can be together with his love across 1000 of distance. I ended things with Winifred and ran like a madman through Charlottetown to see if Anne would give me one last shot. She did. Thank god, she did._
> 
> _My courtship with Winifred actually ended two weeks ago, as poorly as you can imagine. But I did right by her in every way I could, and respected her enough to be honest that I could not be with her if it’s Anne that I so greatly adore. Not that I said Anne by name, but Winifred knew. She made me promise not to tell anyone until she could safely leave Charlottetown, which is why you are just hearing about this now. Though I regret having humiliated her to the point of returning back to France, I feel so much...lighter, happier. Knowing that Anne cares for me the way I care for her leaves me feeling confident I made the right choice. I think Winifred will see that one day, too._
> 
> _I miss you, Bash. Delly too. The more I’m here, the harder it is to imagine that I’ll be living without you. I can barely remember what it was like when it was just me - without my brother, without the laughter of the baby. There’s a room here for guests if you ever want to visit, but I’ll come home when I can. Something tells me if I stray from Avonlea too long, something vital in me will starve._
> 
> _I love you all. I hope the harvest is going well._
> 
> _Your brother,_
> 
> _Gilbert._

With both letters sealed and addressed, Gilbert stepped out onto the new streets, drinking in the Toronto sun as he made his way toward town. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this chapter, even with its expositiony type stuff! As always, if you'd like to come chat, I'm on tumblr ~ @royalcordelia! ♥


	3. (1.03) You Bring Light and Second Chances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which some people receive letters, and other people want to know what they say. (Also read: Intentions are made clear).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all I survived finals and am back! I wanted to give you guys a decent update before the holidays because I have to focus on secret santa now. Woot! ♥ Anyways, enjoy!

Sebastian had known from Gilbert’s first mentionings of college that he was going to miss the skinny boy he called brother, but it had always seemed so far away. Now Gilbert’s room had been empty for an entire week. Leaning against the doorframe peering into the room, Bash noticed noticed how Gil’s bed-frame and desk were already beginning to collect dust. Delly sat on his hip, sucking her thumb in comfort, her hair growing out so much like her mother’s that Bash’s heart clenched when he touched it.

Bash hated change, as most people do when they have to leave behind the things they love most. But standing in Gilbert’s room, Bash couldn’t help but feel homesick for a time when Mary was alive — Delly was strapped to her back, Gilbert was only a few acres away at school, due to return home in the golden hour. Where had his family gone? 

So many miles lost in his own thoughts, he didn’t hear the front door squeak open.

“Sebastian, you’ve got letters from Gilbert!” Hazel’s voice echoed from downstairs.

Bash jolted, wrapping another arm around Delly as he hurried down the stairs and slid through the hallway toward the kitchen. Hazel was ready to receive the baby, handing him two cream letters once his hands were free with a smirk and a shake of her head. Her eyes stuck on Bash as he greedily read Gilbert’s scratch on the back of the envelope. 

_“Bash - open this one first.”_

“Well, what it say?” Hazel asked impatiently. 

“Give me a chance to read it and I’ll tell you!” Bash retorted. As his eyes skimmed over the slanted words, he relayed bits and pieces to his mother. “It says he’s settled into his new house, living with some fella, Ron. Nervous about school and…” Bash’s jaw dropped. 

“And?” 

“And he’s courting Anne,” Bash continued, a grin sneaking into his voice. “He stopped to see her before she left.” 

Hazel spun around from the stove, startled enough to let her ladle drip onto the floor. She considered the news, before a steady look of satisfaction graced her features.

“Finally that boy got his head on straight. I thought he’d always drag it around with him on a leash with the way things were going.” 

“You’re telling me,” Bash mumbled, continuing to read. “PS: Please take the other letter to the Cuthberts. I wanted to tell them in person, but with the timing, I wasn’t able to. Would you be my ambassador?” 

He flipped the second envelope in his fingers and noticed the difference in address.

 _Matthew and Marilla Cuthbert_ _  
_ _Attn: Sebastian Lecroix_

“I’ve got to run to Green Gables. I’ll be back in time to help set the table for dinner,” Bash told his mother. He was halfway out the door when he froze and turned around. “Actually, do you mind if we have guests over for dinner? I want to celebrate.” 

*

He must have caught a glimpse of her through the thin autumn curtains, because the very second Anne lifted her hand to manse’s knocker, the entryway door swung open. Anne jumped back an inch, expecting to find the friendly, yet solemn face of Rollings, but instead found Cole. He wore a chestnut colored suit, but his sunny hair matched the elated smile on his cheeks, making his spirit recognizable even dressed in his resplendent clothes. Any of the neighbors peeking out their window would’ve seen the young man sweep Anne into his arms and lift her up off of her feet. 

“There’s my queen of Queens!” he said, voice straining through his laughter he held her up. Slipping out of his arms, Anne’s toes found the ground as she straightened this collar.

“I meant to come sooner, but I’ve been in so many meetings with professors and attending so many of the Freshman welcome events that I’ve barely had any time to myself. But I’m not just here to catch up. I’m here on business, as well,” Anne explained. She pulled a drawstring satchel from her purse and held it out before him. “Tell me, are these sufficient funds for a portrait commission?” 

Cole didn’t look inside the bag yet, fixing her with an expression of amusement and confusion. “A portrait of you?” 

“Yes,” Anne stated matter-of-factly, though she failed at hiding her budding excitement. 

“Anne, I have plenty of portraits of you in my portfolio. Why don’t you just take one of those?” 

Her new curls bounced as she shook her head. 

“I mean a _real_ portrait. It’s going to be a gift, and since a photograph is beyond my allowance, I thought I’d offer you all that I could for the next best thing. Besides, a hand drawn portrait by you is better than any photograph I’ve ever seen. I merely stopped by to give my offer and payment, and see what time would be agreeable for you.” 

Cole considered this, vaguely wondering if the smell of violets was coming from the flowerbed or from Anne’s perfume. 

“I don’t like accepting your money. I know how hard you work to earn it,” he said honestly. Anne reached forward, moving his hands to cover the sack of coins, then pushed it toward him. 

“It’s payment for a service you’d be doing me. You’re a professional artist now, Cole. You deserve to be compensated as such, especially by friends,” she insisted. “Besides, I want you to accept the money now so I can finally tell you what it’s for.” 

Biting his lip, Cole finally nodded. He grabbed her hand and tugged her into the house, sitting her down in the parlor. He was darting up the stairs to grab his supplies when he skidded to a stop. From the hallway, Anne heard Cole’s voice echo, “You’ve got time right now, don’t you?” 

“Yep! I have all afternoon free!” 

He reappeared moments later, large pads of paper in one hand and a leather case in the other. It was only when he began to situate himself directly before her that Anne realized he’d strategically placed her in a beam of bright sunlight. In the corner of her eyes, her hair looked like gilded thread, shining gold and warm. When she turned her gaze back to the artist, she found he had laid out his sketching pencils beside him, as well as the opened his wide assortment of paint pigments within reach. 

“Jo is out for the afternoon, but if you can, you _must_ stay for dinner. If she discovers you were here without seeing her, she’ll never let you hear the end of it,” Cole explained, flipping open to a fresh new piece of paper. Then, with a keen energy of excitement and a pretense of professionalism, he straightened his shoulders. “Now, what did you have in mind for this portrait, Miss Shirley-Cuthbert?” 

Anne opened her mouth to answer, but pressed her lips together with a knowing smile. 

“Well,” she drawled finally, “As I mentioned, I’ll be giving this as a gift. I’d like to send it already framed to my new suitor. He requested something for his bedside table.” 

Cole slammed his pencil on his lap, nearly breaking the tip. The expression of delighted shock on his face nearly had Anne roaring with laughter, but she knew she had not yet delivered the best part. 

“Anne Shirley Cuthbert. You attend college for all of one week and you’ve already got a suitor! Finally, the young gentlemen of Prince Edward Island are realizing what a gem exists amongst their midst!” Cole praised. Then, his face became more masked, but his voice dropped to the floor, low with hesitance. “Does this mean that you...no longer care for Gilbert?” 

For a split second, Anne remembered the last thing she’d told Cole about Gilbert - about how she expected him to marry, and how she’d forever love him across an ocean of distance. She could remember with visceral perfectness the way she’d ached to let him go. Thus, it was with resounding joy that Anne allowed a cheek splitting grin to overcome her face as she spoke. 

“It’s for Gilbert.” 

Cole blinked. “It’s for Gilbert,” he repeated blankly. Then, nearly knocking over his things, he cried, “It’s _for Gibert!?”_

This time, Anne did laugh, covering her blush with her hands. 

“Oh, Cole, I could burst just thinking about it! It’s a story right out of a fairy tale book.” 

The feather-haired blonde pointed the sharp edge of his pencil at Anne. 

“I _told_ you so! _Years_ ago!” he bragged. Anne nodded through her laughter, struggling to maintain a poised portrait pose. “Alright, I want to hear everything. Sit just like that. You talk, I’ll draw.”

*

Bash had no idea what the letters. All he knew was that the one in Marilla’s hand was the one he hand delivered from Gilbert, likely making her aware of his intentions, and the other one was from Anne, likely of a similar content. The Cuthberts read their respective letters with such severity that Bash feared for a moment Marilla would crumple up the correspondence and toss it in the oven. He fidgeted in his seat, scolding himself when he thought to himself, _Wonder if I’ll read so slow when I get that old._

Matthew was the first to finish, placing down the letter with tender fingers in front of Marilla. The woman in question hurried over the last lines of hers, then scanned over the entire paper once more, before handing it to Matthew. Bash bit back a groan. Couldn’t they just get to the celebrating? 

His patience broke sooner than he thought it would, and he leaned across the table as if to ask for a secret. 

“What’s it say, Marilla?” 

Marilla peered at Bash over the rim of her glasses and forced her smile from growing too noticeable. Beside her, Matthew blushed as he set down Gilbert’s letter and fisted his hands on the table to give his shaking fingers something to do. Taking a short inhale, Marilla began to read. 

> _Dearest Matthew and Marilla,_
> 
> _The view from my window reminds me ever so much of my own gable room. I find small hints of Avonlea everywhere I go - from the people I share my house with, to the billowing wildflowers in my neighbor’s gardens. Charlottetown people aren’t as rude as I had once surmised, and I expect that I will find a bouquet of kindred spirits at queens. You remain my most beloved kindred spirits, always._
> 
> _I’m afraid I’m short on time this afternoon - the Freshettes have an orientation to attend within the hour. A lengthier letter will follow this one once I have settled into my classes, fully denoting every delicious thing happening here. The purpose of this quick note, then, is to give you a delighted warning at something that I suspect will be arriving at Green Gables within the next few days._
> 
> _That is to say, if Gilbert Blythe writes to you both speaking of intentions and courting, please don’t be alarmed. I have given him my own ecstatic, wholehearted consent, but it would be so very like Gilbert to want to honor you both as well. I don’t know for sure, as he and I didn’t have very much time to detangle all of our many misunderstandings last we saw each other, but if on the off chance he chooses not to write, let me be the first to tell you: Gilbert and I are going to start courting. Oh, the last time something felt so beautifully perfect was when I came to live at Green Gables and when Mrs. Barry said Diana and I could be friends after all! Truly, my feet haven’t touched the ground!_
> 
> _I hope all is well for you both. I miss you abundantly. Charlottetown will never truly be home, not when there’s a Green Gables and a White Way of Delight beckoning me. I give you both_
> 
> _All my love,_
> 
> _Anne_
> 
> _(PS: Please tell the Lacroix’s I miss them. Bash looked so forlorn the last I saw him.)_

As silence fell back over the room, Bash remembered the last time he’d seen Anne. She’d been peering up with such a hopeful smile and a handful of Avonlea blossoms, but he hadn’t really thought much of it until after peace had settled over his household. By then, Gilbert was gone, and it occurred to him he never got a proper goodbye with Avonlea’s Anne with an E. 

“Well, she was right about him sending a letter,” Matthew concluded in a strange voice.

“I hope that boy gave you a good explanation for all his foolishness these last months,” Bash said finally.

“I do believe he has made a more than adequate case for himself, though you’re welcome to have a look for yourself,” Marilla replied. Bash lifted his brows as if to ask _Are you sure?_ Marilla gave a stiff nod, but smiled, sliding Gilbert’s letter across the table for him to read. 

> _Dear Mr. and Miss Cuthbert,_
> 
> _I’m sure that I am the last person you expected a letter from, especially after all the gossip about me that has made its rounds through Avonlea. However, the matter I wish to write to you about is of such importance that it could not wait until my next visit home. It’s times like these I wish I had Anne’s elegant command of language. Instead, all I can do is tell you that I adore your daughter and humbly request your blessing to begin courting her._
> 
> _Your immediate feelings must be some variation of confusion because of the public knowledge that I intended to marry a young woman in Charlottetown. The sole reason I had been contemplating this decision was because Miss Rose’s presence in my life would have granted me the opportunity to fulfill an academic dream of mine. It all seemed so providential that I assumed Miss Rose’s presence in my life was supposed to be providential as well. This assumption was not only incorrect, but it also led to the pain of many people I care about._
> 
> _Still, I have been so relieved every day that I read my Book of Revelations when I did. All my confusion has been cleared away, it is so apparent to me that I was a complete fool to pretend I could ever move on from how much I care about Anne. I’ve decided I don’t want my life to be successful_ _because_ _of the people around me. I want those people to be_ _part of_ _my success and the blessings of life - blessings that I intend to earn all on my own merit._
> 
> _I tell you all these things so that you don’t assume Anne is my second choice. I hope you understand me when I tell you that Anne has always been and always will be my first, and only, choice. From the day I met her, I admired her intelligence, her passion, and the loveliness of her spirit. My dream isn’t just to be become a successful doctor - what good is that if can’t honor the people I love most? And I truly do love Anne, as well as your family. That is why I ended my courtship with Winifred. It would be unfair to lead on her heart when mine was so undeniably and permanently tied to someone else._
> 
> _It’s unlike me to lay my heart on my sleeve, but it’s because I believe this matter is important that I do. I anxiously await your response (In full disclosure, I am fully prepared to travel sixteen hours home to convince you in person if this letter isn’t enough.)_
> 
> _It’s my genuine hope that you all are faring well. Enjoy the warm harvest weather!_
> 
> _With Sincerity,_
> 
> _Gilbert Blythe_

When he was done, Bash folded the letter back up and pushed it to the middle of the table. His chest swelled with pride for his brother, who had finally grown into the man he’d been rushing to be all these months. Now, the lad had done it on his own volition and on his own merit. 

“Well, what’s it to be?” Bash asked carefully. Matthew and Marilla exchanged a look that only a pair of siblings would be able to decipher before the older woman took up her own pencil and a sheet of paper. For a moment, Bash worried that she would say, “ _Sorry Bash, but he isn’t good enough for our Anne.”_ But then she sent a smile of genuine satisfaction across the table and he heaved a sigh of relief. 

“If you give me just a moment, I’d like to write to Gilbert to tell him that he’s had our blessing long before Anne burst into our kitchen to say she was in love with him. Would you mail it for us once I’m finished?” 

“I’d be delighted to,” Bash replied warmly. He paused before adding, “Everyone knew except him, didn’t they?” 

“Seems so,” Matthew said bashfully. “She said it so loud, even the horses knew.” 

*

The perk of living with a philosophy major was that the house was almost always quiet. Silence suited the Sunset House - they’d begun to call it that without realizing it - and Gilbert couldn’t help but sometimes feel like he was sitting at his own desk back home. When he listened to the birdsong just outside his window or looked up at the printed skeleton models hanging above his desk, he could almost forget he was a thousand miles away from home. He shared the apartment’s study with Ron, but the man worked so soundlessly that the only sound Gilbert could ever make out was the gears turning in the man’s head.

School, as it turned out, was more tiring and more fulfilling than he could have prepared himself for. Two weeks into his classes, he’d collected an odd array of friends - mostly people Ron knew, which explained their peculiar nature. Yet, none of them were, as Anne would say, kindred spirits. Ron was either growing on him, or he was merely becoming more accustomed to his nosy roommate’s antics. 

But when the day was over and Gilbert needed to share the intimacies of his heart with someone who belonged in his life, he’d add another page to his weekly letter to Anne and tell her everything that was on his mind. It paled in comparison to having her in person. 

On days like these when he was exhausted and homesick, he imagined what it would be like to rest his head on Anne’s chest while she held him and stroked his hair. Knowing she’d probably let him only made being away from PEI worse, but the quiet daydreams had a way of keeping him grounded. 

He was gazing out his window, picturing Anne dancing in ambered firelight, when Ron called up the stairs, “Gil? You’ve got mail.”

The legs of his chair screeched against the old wood floors and Gilbert pushed himself away from his desk and raced down the stairs. He found Ron shuffling through the various letters, peering with interest at a paper-wrapped parcel tied to one of the letters. 

“Let’s see. One from Sebastian Lacroix, one from the Cuthberts, and…” Ron wiggled his eyebrows and waved the package. “One from the ever-lovely, ever-red headed Anne Shirley-Cuthbert. My, you are popular!” 

“Give me those,” Gilbert chided, snatching away his mail and pulling it to his chest. For a second, he contemplated running back upstairs and locking his door behind him where Ron wouldn’t be able to follow, but the man would probably just pester him wherever he tried to hide. Shooting Ron a warning look, he sat down on the parlor couch and heaved a deep sigh. Where should he start? 

“The one from her parents is probably the most pressing,” he said aloud.

His fingers hovered over the flap of the envelope, trembling with hesitation. What if they said no? If he had a daughter and some schmuck like him came calling after her, he’d send the poor lad running. 

“Jesus Christ, Gilbert, just open the damn thing,” Ron cried, snapping Gilbert out of his thoughts. Tearing open the flap, Gilbert gently pulled the letter from inside. 

> _Dear Gilbert,_
> 
> _Matthew and I have been anticipating this development for quite some time. Rest assured that you have proven yourself to be a most admirable young man. We all must learn the hard lessons of life at some time or another. I imagine you will discover more about the matters of the heart as you grow older - Matthew and I are still learning with Anne in our family - but it’s the best type of learning a person can undergo. Thank you for your transparency and your honesty. Anne has expressed to us that she has already given you her consent, and therefore, you have our blessing to court her. Though it does sadden us a little bit to see our young girl mature into a woman, we could not keep her from the desires of her heart. I hope you know we could not have asked for a better young man for Anne. Both Matthew and I wish you all the best in your studies. You make Avonlea proud._
> 
> _Sincerely,_
> 
> _Marilla Cuthbert_

Gilbert’s relief must have been tangible because Ron whistled as he blew a cooling breath over his coffee. 

“Did you expect them to send you to the witch’s stake or something?” Ron asked. 

“For everything I’ve put Anne through? Yes. Absolutely,” Gilbert said, stunned. 

Unable to wait any longer, Gilbert took Anne’s parcel in his hands and smiled at the familiarity of her handwriting. There were two letters attached, one with a note on the envelope that said, “I wrote this before I received your letter. Open the present last.” He was unsure whether that boded well for the contents inside, but decided to take the risk and finally read the letter he’d been waiting for all week. As his eyes skimmed the text, he fell back onto the couch and held the letter above his head. 

“What’s it say?” Ron queried.

“ _Shhh_!” Gilbert shot, pulling the letter closer to his face. He read and read and read. When he was finished with the first letter, he found he had a lovesick grin plastered across his face and a glimmering light in his eyes. With a voice as gentle as wind, Gilbert breathed, “She says she loves me.”

“I thought you knew that already,” Ron replied. 

“Not for sure. When I asked her if she did, she kissed me. I was fairly convinced then, but to have the words written out is much more certain,” Gilbert explained, already opening the second letter. He could barely bring himself to care that he sounded like an absolute romantic fool in front of his roommate. Anne _loved_ him! 

> _My dearest Gil,_
> 
> _It’s nearly autumn! She stops by every now and again with her cold air and hints of dusky colors on the leaves. It makes me wonder if all those miles away, you’re seeing any hints of fall as well. I was so pleased to hear that you’re doing well and settling in to your new home. I can just picture your apartment on North Sunset street! Tell me, is your home made of bricks the same color as the PEI roads? Does your window overlook anything spectacular? In truth, my window has a lovely view over Charlottetown, but I find myself preferring to reread your letter than look out over the city._
> 
> _Do you truly love me, Gilbert? Oh, I know you do, but I think I’d like to see you say it over and over and over - that is, if it isn’t too much trouble. It’s just so breathtakingly wonderful to see it written in your handwriting. You have my full permission to be bold and assume that I love you to equal measure. So much so, that I’m tempted to write you of little else. Perhaps one day I shall tell you how I adore you, in every way my imagination can conjure. For now, I will answer your questions._
> 
> _You asked me when I began to have feelings for you. In truth, I pondered this myself because once I realized what the feelings were, I couldn’t remember a time when they weren’t there. I trace them farther and farther back, and there I am, looking upon a very dashing young man asking me if there are any dragons in need of slaying. It seemed at times, I wasn’t only jealous and spiteful of your kindness and intelligence, but I seemed to desire it too. Perhaps that accounts for my lengthy bout of confusion. Once we became friends, every day I grew closer to realizing that my admiration was equal parts attraction._
> 
> _As for when I_ _realized_ _that I cared for you. It was after dance practice that I realized I wanted to be the object of your warm gazes and soft touches for the rest of eternity. But it was after that night at the ruins that I realized I loved you. I didn’t want to be the one thing holding you back. Love was what prepared me to let you go, and be grateful that you’d be happy, even if it meant without me. I am a thousand times more grateful that we intend to be happy together, not apart._
> 
> _As for the letter you wrote me, I am utterly ashamed to admit that I tore it to pieces before reading it. I hadn’t really allowed myself to be angry and hurt until that moment, but as soon as my anger expressed itself, it was gone. I tried to piece together the torn fragments, but came up with a message in which you said you didn’t love me and intended to marry Winifred. I couldn’t bring myself to throw them away though. They’re in an envelope in my bureau at Green Gables. Do you think you could piece them together for me during Christmas break?_
> 
> _Phew! With all that out in the open, I can tell you that I am doing wonderfully here at Queens! I do occasionally get homesick, especially for you, but I do love my curriculum and the people in my classes. In my free time, when I’m not writing you or my family, I plan to write some more short stories for publication. Hopefully, I can earn enough to come visit you soon. Would Ron mind?_
> 
> _My hand is cramping, so I will conclude here for tonight. Think of me in the golden hours of the morning and afternoon, and I won’t be terribly far away at all._
> 
> _Unabashedly yours,_
> 
> _Anne_
> 
> _(PS: I tried out that new nickname. How did you like it?)_
> 
> _(PPS: I’ve included something for you, per your request. Is it vain to say that Cole did a magnificent job?)_

Gilbert did not waste time, pulling parcel from his lap and tearing off the brown paper. Immediately the breath was knocked from his chest as he gazed upon a small painted portrait of Anne, signed at the bottom by Cole Mackenzie. She was depicted with her face angled toward the sun, with a rose blush on her cheeks and cherry color to her lips. Cole had paid amazing detail to her freckles, capturing them in each perfect location. She’d worn her hair and dress exactly as she had the last time he’d seen her, freezing that moment in the timeless artistic existence. Her smile was as he remembered it, so realistic that he could vividly hear her laughter as if she were in the room. 

He must’ve been staring at the portrait for so long that Ron rose from his chair and peered over Gilbert’s shoulder. 

“You weren’t kidding about the red hair,” he commented. Gilbert glanced up, before returning his gaze to the picture. “Not too far off from the color of carrots.”

Gilbert snorted, an affectionate smile turning his face to sunlight. “Don’t let her hear you say that.”


	4. (1.04) Come Down Sweet Reverence Unto my Simple House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Anne is given a surprise that keeps on giving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy, happy new year everyone! And happy (belated) Anne with an E day! I hope all you non-Canadians/non-VPN users are enjoying the masterpiece that is Season 3. I hope this story comes at a good time, to ease your post-season heart twinges! (Purple_Slippers_18 has also begun her own retelling of S3 that is MASTERFUL and if you need something to read, READ IT!)
> 
> Also thank you to everyone who has left me such kind thoughts, especially Alexis, who makes sure nothing is too crazy to be published. I hope you enjoy! ♥
> 
> (Chapter title is from "The Stable Song" by Gregory Alan Isakov, my man).

Even in late October, a line of warblers and chickadees sat at the top of the boarding house’s ridgepole and turned the wind to a haven of effervescent song. It gated the garden in, blocking it from the rest of the bustling city. Anne took a deep breath of the fresh air, relishing the way it felt crisp in her chest. The journal on her lap was seemingly forgotten, the last sentence yet unfinished - “ _Wi_ _th one look at George, Averil realized...”_ Though the perfect way to complete the sentence evaded her, Anne didn’t fret. In these moments of near silence and endless inspiration, she felt helpless to do anything but reach into the essence of nature and let it tell her what to say. 

Then, as if she had turned an open palm to the sky and the phrase flitted down into it, she murmured, “Got it!” Her beloved fountain pen scratched across the page as she wrote. “ _With one look at George, Averil decided ideals weren’t terribly silly notions, after all. The trick, she realized, was knowing your one’s own ideals as well as one knows themself. George may not have been the melancholy Apollo of her girlhood dreams, but he was steadfast and compassionate. Only in George’s embrace would she feel truly as if she was right where she belonged._

With a sigh, Anne closed the journal. What a wonderful feeling it was to finally complete a story! To give a break to endless essays and readings and merely be with the words of her soul. Averil was a heroine truly deserving of her steadfast and compassionate suitor, even if writing about him did make Anne miss her own. 

Before her thoughts could drift too far away to her hazel-eyed love, she heard the back porch door open. There was Lily, wearing her usual kind smile and a perfectly white apron. 

“ _You blend in with the trees!”_ Lily signed from the porch. Anne spared a glance around at the sunset colored leaves drenched in the afternoon’s golden light. 

“ _One always blends well among friends,”_ Anne replied, hands forming what she was nearly certain were the correct signs. 

Anne had discovered, much to her surprise, that she was the first person to ever really _ask_ Lily to teach them sign language. Past boarders had picked some up over the duration of their stay, but never tried their hands at it - as it were. But Anne wondered what a life must be like spent mostly watching and not expressing. If Lily had truths and passions of her heart that she wanted to share, it wasn’t fair that a barrier should come between them. Thus, every night, Lily sat Anne down at the dining table and taught Anne her language. Anne thought it was beautiful and challenging the way the language focused on _meaning_ rather than the way a thing was said. Nearly three months later, Anne was more proficient than she dreamed she could be, though there was still so much to learn. 

“ _You should come inside,”_ Lily said, her face suddenly taking an apprehensive expression. “ _I_ _think you have a visitor, but Mrs. Blackmore won’t receive him.”_

Snatching up her journal, Anne quickly thanked Lily and followed her inside. It wasn’t long before she heard Mrs. Blackmore’s exasperated voice echoing on the thin walls of the home. 

“This is entirely uncalled for! In all my years of keeping this house I’ve _never_ -” 

“I promise ma’am, I don’t mean to intrude. I was just in town and thought-” 

“I don’t want to imagine what you thought!” 

Anne gasped. She’d recognize that voice anywhere. Bursting into the entryway, she met eyes with an equal parts frustrated and awkward Bash. He clutched Mary’s old carpet bag in his hand, the fabric crumpling under the strain. As soon as he saw Anne, relief flooded his eyes before elation took its place. 

“Bash! What are you doing here?” she exclaimed with a joyful laugh, throwing her arms around his neck. Anne wasn’t sure what shocked Mrs. Blackmore more, Anne hugging Bash, or him lifting her off the ground to shake her. 

“I was in town and thought I’d visit! I didn’t get a chance to see you before you left Avonlea,” he replied. “I don’t mind sayin’ that I’ve missed you terrible.” 

“Believe me, I’ve missed you all so much.” 

“Some more than others,” he said, cocking a brow. Anne nudged him and stepped back to Mrs. Blackmore. 

“Mrs. Blackmore, this is Sebastian Lacroix, a very close family friend of mine and my suitor’s brother.” 

“ _Suitor_ , eh?” Bash murmured. Anne gave him another light whack on the arm. 

“Bash, this Mrs. Blackmore. She so graciously allows me a roof over my head and a meal on the table.” 

By the look on her face, Mrs. Blackmore wasn’t feeling so very gracious to provide _any_ of those things to _anyone._ Still, Bash managed a friendly smile and offered his hand. “It’s a fine pleasure to meet you, ma’am. Sorry about the scare.” Mrs. Blackmore peered down at his hand, weathered from years of labor, her lip curling in disgust. 

“I’m sorry, Anne, but your guest cannot stay,” she stated with finality. 

“ _What_?!” 

“I don’t say a thing twice.” 

A blush rose up Anne’s neck, whether from rage or embarrassment she could not say. She grabbed the woman’s wrist, dragging her away from Bash’s hearing distance. 

“Pardon me if I’m having trouble understanding why my guest is not allowed to stay. He’s not my suitor, and therefore he isn’t confined to Saturday afternoons. He came in respectable clothes at a respectable hour, which is more than we can say of some guests we’ve received-”

“Anne.” 

“Why, just _three days ago,_ Tillie had several rowdy guests in the parlor and I heard not a complaint from you. In fact, I commend you on your cordiality. So please, Mrs. Blackmore, I’d like to know why my guest can’t be treated with the same courtesy. It goes against our Presbyterian duty to hospitality and-”

“ _Alright!”_ Mrs. Blackmore interjected. It was enough that Bash’s wandering gaze snapped over to them, before darting away. “He can stay until dinner.” 

Anne frowned. Dinner was only thirty minutes away. “He should stay _for_ dinner.” 

“What will the other girls think?” 

“The other girls know him! They all love him. Mrs. Blackmore, please!” 

There was no stronger persuading force than reminding a good Christian woman of her Presbyterian duty, even in the face of unrelenting prejudice. Not to mention, Mrs. Blackmore was quickly running out of excuses. With an exhausted sigh, the older woman threw up her hands in defeat.

“ _Lily, add another place setting to the table. We’re having a guest for dinner,”_ said Mrs. Blackmore’s lips and hands. Lily tossed Anne a victorious smile, curtising first to their guest, then to the other ladies, before flitting off to the dining room. Anne turned to thank Mrs. Blackmore for her understanding, but found the tired woman halfway up the stairs. With a sheepish smile, she looked to Bash. 

“I’m so sorry about that. She’s usually one of the kindest people I know,” she explained. “Please, come in!” 

“I’m just glad to see you. Avonlea is so much quieter without you and Gilbert around. Every day I wait for you to show up at our door with a bouquet of flowers or a basket of Marilla’s plum puffs.” 

At the mention of Gilbert, Anne perked her ears, but folded her hands in her lap to keep her fingers from tapping. 

“I hope that my absence hasn’t meant Marilla stops baking for you.” 

“Of course not, she just delivers them herself. I think she does it as an excuse to come and visit Delphine. Not that she needs one. Probably misses having a child around.” 

A tender smile lifted Anne’s lips. 

“Everything is well back home then?” she asked hopefully. As close as Avonlea was - 45 minutes was admittedly not a long train ride - sometimes she couldn’t help but feel like she was on the other side of the planet from home. And Gilbert even farther. 

“The harvest is going well. For me, it’s strange not having the extra pair of hands, but we’re managing.” Bash paused, opening his mouth before closing it again. 

“Go ahead, Bash, whatever it is,” Anne prodded, already having a sneaking suspicion what he was about to say. Like a carbonated bottle shaken up, Bash threw up his hands and slammed them on his knees.

“I’m dying to know how it happened! One minute he’s moping around the kitchen tellin’ me his feelings for you are unrequited, and the next he’s breaking off his engagement and moving to Toronto.” 

A burst of laughter burst out of Anne. 

“He never told you? He tells you everything!” 

A joking shadow of regret came over Bash and he shrugged, “I think I teased him too much in the years leading up to it that the poor boy couldn’t take anymore. Besides, I think he’d rather spend his letter-writing time writing to someone else.” 

“My goodness, how long have you been teasing him?” 

“About you? Almost since the day I met him.” Anne’s cheeks turned rose kissed and she bit her lip against a satisfied smile. “You gonna tell me or no, Queen Anne?” 

“It’s strange, there’s so much to tell and yet it’s all such a simple story,” she began. “My best friend, Diana, was riding the same train out of Carmody that Gilbert was leaving for Toronto. She heard him say that he wasn’t engaged, nor was he going to Paris. He almost got away, too. But Diana moved to his seat and demanded to know why he’d been behaving toward me the way he was, why he’d ignored the letter I wrote to him.” 

“Well, why did he?” 

“He never received it. I left it on your table, so I can’t fathom what could have possibly happened to it. When Diana told him what my letter said, he all but jumped out of the train window to find me. He showed up here, cleared up the biggest misunderstanding between us, then rushed off to Toronto. As for me, I ran into Winifred in town. She informed me, as you said, that Gilbert believed his feelings were unrequited. I did my best to ensure him otherwise.”

Bash whistled. “The Almighty really been trying his hardest to match you two up and you’ve given him the hardest time. I’m very glad it worked for you.” His gaze turned down the carpet bag beside him. Anne had forgotten about it in the midst of her storytelling, but she watched with interest as he pulled it into his lap. “There’s actually a reason I came today.” 

Anne lifted a brow with a curious smile. 

“Gilbert left for Toronto in such a hurry that he left behind some of the things I think he’d like to have with him. I was wondering if you’d take them to him for me.” 

“Me?” 

“I can’t leave Delphine for too long. Or the harvest for that matter.” He handed her the bag’s worn handles, but Anne handed them right back. 

“I’d _love_ to, truly, but I don’t have enough money for the train or a hotel.” 

Bash scoffed. “Already taken care of. There’s an envelope with train fare in the bag, enough to get you there and back. Gilbert has a guest room you can stay in, so a hotel won’t be necessary.”

Anne could feel herself being won over, but she was still hesitant. “What about Marilla?” 

A wicked glint flickered in his eyes that Anne looked strikingly familiar to one she’d seen right before a boy tugged her braid. “We don’t have to tell Marilla.” Anne could feel her resolve draining away, but what settled her mind was, “He’d be real happy to see you, Anne. I think he’s been homesick.” 

With an excited smile, Anne yanked back the carpet bag and gave a beaming grin. 

“Okay, I’ll go this weekend,” she stated, elation bubbling over. 

“Good. I’m thankful to you.” 

After dinner when Bash had departed, Anne went through the things Bash had packed away for Gilbert - a few medical books, extra socks, a velvet bag she wouldn’t open - and realized that she wasn’t doing Bash a favor at all. _He_ was doing her the favor - it would’ve been less expensive for him to just ship the things. Still, Anne added a few things of her own to the bag of things to give Gilbert, and shoved it underneath her bed. 

Plopping back on her mattress, Anne grinned at the ceiling. At this time in three days, she’d be with Gilbert. Would she survive until then? 

*

Anne stepped off the train and onto the platform with stiff legs, but the relief in her muscles went almost entirely unnoticed when the sight of beautiful Toronto came into view. The mainland felt so different beneath her feet, as if she were a sailor taking her first steps onto solid land. Around her, travellers rustled and bounded by, talking of business, of family, of pleasure. With a surprised gasp, Anne noticed that beyond the train station, there were no rolling fields or orange-topped trees. In their place were tall buildings, one after another, after another, after another. 

“First time in Toronto, eh?” a stranger said, noticing Anne stock still in place. She nodded in response, meeting the kind gaze of an elderly woman. The woman reminded her of Aunt Jo in that her spirit felt trustworthy and she was wearing one of the loveliest hats Anne had ever seen. 

“Yes, by chance, could you point me in the direction of…” she snuck a glance at one of Gilbert’s old letters. “...North Sunset Street?” 

“Certainly! Why, I grew up on that street. Just follow this main road for about a mile or so, and you’ll find Sunset on the right. A lovely row of brick houses. My mother used to put flowers in the window because the sunlight was always so bright.” 

Anne smiled. A kindred spirit, after all. 

“I think flowers are nature’s sweetest gift to us. I’ll put some in the window to honor her,” Anne promised. “Thank you so kindly for your help!” 

As she traveled up the streets, Anne found her pace matched that of the city-goers around her, fast-paced and eager. How could she help it? There was only a mile distance between her and Gilbert, and the sooner she closed it, the sooner she’d pull him close to her and…and...do _something_ terribly romantic. She’d figure it out when the time came. Tightening her grasp on her cases, she all but jogged through the winding crowds. Then, a street sign came into view with a familiar name and Anne’s heart jolted. 

The woman had been right - North Sunset Street had some of the most lovely houses Anne had ever seen. The road was lined with old trees and was full of more greenery than she’d seen in the entire city. How Gilbert’s roommate had come to secure one, she couldn’t fathom, but she was glad Gilbert would spend his time somewhere that had hints of PEI’s loveliness. As she counted the house numbers - _290, 291, 292_ … - her stomach filled with an entire forest worth of butterflies. 

_293_. There it was. Ivy rimmed and gold in the late afternoon light, Gilbert’s Toronto residence waited for her to burst in. Yet, instead of allowing herself in using the key she knew was under a ceramic dog on the windowsill, she knocked like the perfectly respectable lady she strove to be. Almost instantaneously, an unfamiliar voice boomed through the inside of the house.

“Did you lock yourself out _again_? I keep telling you that I put a key underneath-” The door swung open. “Oh. You’re not Gilbert.” 

Anne, stunned to be peering up at a man who was nearly an entire foot taller than her, merely offered a shy smile and shook her head. 

“I take it you’re Ron?” she said cordially. 

“Anne Shirley-Cuthbert in the flesh,” he realized right back, eyeing her with an analytical gaze. “You’re... _younger_ than I expected you to be.” 

The grin on Anne’s face twitched and she held back the urge to shift awkwardly on her feet. How old did he expect her to be? After all, she was only about a year-and-a-half younger than Gilbert, old enough to be in college! 

Ignoring the comment, Anne snuck a glance behind Ron’s shoulder.

“Is Gilbert in, by chance?” 

Much to her disappointment, the man shook his head. 

“He’s got a friday class that finishes at four o’clock. It’s probably just ended.” His eyes fell to the bags in her hand. “Are you staying?” 

“Ah, well, I hoped to. Gilbert’s brother mentioned you both had a spare room that I could probably stay in to avoid the expense of a hotel. Only for the weekend. That is, if it isn’t too much trouble.” 

Ron shrugged. “I don’t mind. Gil will probably insist on it with the way he moons over you. School is only a few blocks from here. Why don’t you leave your things here and I’ll show you where his usual haunt is?” 

All at once, Anne’s butterflies were back with a passionate fury. 

“I’d be ever so grateful!” she nearly exclaimed, her eagerness knocking Ron a few paces backwards. He grabbed his hat from the hook, plopped it on his head, and slid past her. As tenderly as if she were walking on glass, Anne followed behind, trying desperately not to make an utter fool of herself. 

“Gilbert said you’re a college girl yourself?” Ron chatted amiably. A gust of wind brought a whiff of his expensive cologne to her nose. 

“Yes, English and Teaching.” 

“Ah, a reader then.” 

“An avid one,” Anne confirmed. “But mostly I want to inspire students to believe in their own talents and grow to love learning just as much as I came to. A good education can help a person through anything. There is nothing so thrilling as watching those you care about succeed at the things they’re passionate about. Don’t you agree?”

Ron cocked a head in interest. If she had been attempting to put up a facade of decorum, that last statement had been the first hint of the free-spirited Anne he had heard so much about. 

“You know, Anne, I believe you’re onto something,” he said. “At any rate, it matters little what _I_ think. Your students will crave your approval, and I daresay they’ll have it.” 

Anne beamed. Perhaps this Ron could be a kindred spirit, after all. She seemed to be finding them everywhere these days. Around them, the scenery grew taller and denser as they journeyed into the heart of the city. Ron rambled beside her about some strange fellow in one of his classes, but Anne could only half listen. Then, all of her senses turned to electricity when the sight of an imposing, majestic castle came into view. 

“Welcome to the University of Toronto,” Ron interjected when he saw her eyes sparkling with amazement. “Gil should be around here somewhere.” 

Yet, as Ron was leading her closer to the main hall’s regal entrance, Anne’s heart tugged her to glance behind her. She squinted to make out a few people sitting on and around a staircase near the west section of the building. Her feet moved on their own volition with slow uncertainty, but her heart had already confirmed what she desperately hoped was true. The closer she got, the more she recognized the outline of his features. His soft hair, his strong shoulders, his chin. 

“Who’s that?” Anne heard from the group. 

Suddenly, she stumbled to a halt, her breath stuck in her throat. She watched as his head turned toward her, and wondered if he could hear her heart beating from across the garden landscape. He leaned forward, as if not believing his eyes, straining to get a closer look. 

Then, all at once, he jumped to his feet, stumbling forward a few steps in shock. A cry of elation tumbled from his lips, a matching one breaking Anne’s silence. His friends cried after him, but he was already bounding away. She didn’t make him run far, hoisting up her skirts to meet him halfway. 

On the train ride here, Anne had imagined what she believed to be every possible reunion that could possibly happen when she _finally_ saw Gilbert again. She imagined him opening up his arms and her leaping into them. She imagined him crushing his lips onto hers for a kiss that would heat her to her toes. What she didn’t imagine was running full speed to him, then stopping a mere breath away. Gilbert’s hands were frustratingly at his sides balled into fists. But his eyes...Anne beamed up into them. They were very bit as warm and earthy as she remembered them being, beautiful enough in their affection that she felt a shiver go down her back.

“You’re here!?” he said in disbelief. Much against her own will, Anne felt her eyes mist over just enough that she blinked into sunlight. 

“Surprise!” 

Gilbert let out a joyful laugh so loud that students on their way to class turned their heads to him. But he couldn’t find it in him to care. Not when Anne was before him, even more breathtaking than he remembered her being - which admittedly, was an impossible amount - smiling up at him with dimpled cheeks. If he didn’t do something soon, he was certain he’d combust on the spot. 

Anne seemed to read his mind, and suddenly they were pulling each other in for a kiss. Flinging her arms around his neck, she pushed up onto her toes, sending Gilbert arching back against her fervor. Taking his cue, he lifted her up off the ground, and spun her around, laughing against her lips. The months of separation were suddenly forgotten, and Anne was content to do nothing except bury her face into his neck and breath in his familiar scent. 

“But- but how?” he stammered, chuckling through Anne’s onslaught of cheek kisses. Her fingers were still locked behind his neck when she pulled back. 

“I took the midnight train and slept most of the way. Ron brought me here.” 

Gilbert sighed in relief, finally conceding to the blissful fact that this was not a dream. He dropped his forehead onto hers, and she nuzzled into his touch. 

“I really missed you,” he murmured, grasp tightening at her waist. “We barely got any time together before I left.” 

“I missed you just as much, but I’ll be here until Sunday. That’s enough time for you to make good on all of the promises from your letters.” She blushed remembering some of the things he’d sworn he’d do when they reunited. They ranged from proper teas and dinners to embraces and experimental kisses where he’d learn the face was extra sensitive. 

“I hope you’ll make good on yours too,” he replied with a raised brow. 

“Count on it,” she assured. Her own promises entailed a detailed report of her romantic daydreams and ponderings from the months before they started their courtship. _I know how my own pining went. I’m aching to know every bit of what you were thinking,_ he’d written once in a letter a few weeks back. The preview she’d granted in her response had been promising. 

“Let me take you to dinner tonight. There’s so much I want to tell you.” 

Anne nodded happily, not caring a might that they’d been giving each other comprehensive written reports of their daily life. She wanted to hear it all from him, watch the stories unfold on his face as he told them. 

“But first,” he continued. “There are some people I want you to meet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How are we feeling at the end of S3? Wanna pour your heart out with me? I'm on tumblr ~ @royalcordelia ! 
> 
> Up Next: Enter Christine Stuart, but in a way that makes her existence not nearly as frustrating as it is in Anne of the Island.


	5. (1.05) If I Go, I'm Goin' Shameless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The universe was convinced you all needed another chapter asap, because I got snowed in two days in a row! With my newfound time, I wrote this chapter. Thank you to everyone who has shared their thoughts and their love, every bit is so appreciated!! ♥
> 
> (Also today's post season 3 fic rec of the day is Welcome to Toronto by simonsjumpers. If you want your heart to stop dead in your chest, that's your story! Also Anne in trousers!!!! This is not a drill!!!!!) 
> 
> I hope you enjoy meeting some of Gil's friends in this chapter and seeing what shirbert's newly formed courtship looks like! And yes, there is bedsharing.

Anne knew she was not what Gilbert’s friends were expecting. She remembered what it was like to see Winifred for the first time, with her thin gloved fingers holding Gilbert’s arm and curlicues of golden hair framing her beautiful face. Even tripping on the uneven Avonlea ground, Winifred had looked every bit like an elegant novel heroine - one that made complete sense to be at Gilbert’s side. Now Anne was the one at Gilbert’s side, it was her hand holding his forearm. She had to wonder if she looked half as suitable for him as Winifred had. 

When Gilbert squeezed her hand, Anne let go of her nervous thoughts with a sigh. What did it matter how she _looked_? She knew better than anyone how suitable she was for Gilbert. It was a fact that could not be disputed, and if anyone tried, she’d prove them wrong with fierce determination. Even though first impressions were not, historically speaking, Anne’s forte, she could only feel pride as Gilbert swept her before his peers with an eager smile on his lips. 

His friends, much to Anne’s complete relief, seemed just as pleased. There were four, including Ron, and each off of their own distinct energies that Anne immediately got to work trying to read. 

“Gotta hand it to you, Gil, that was quite a show you put on for the entirety of Toronto,” one of the boys teased with a smirk as they approached. The young lady beside him _whapped_ him on the arm with a murmured admonishment. Anne blushed, biting her cheek against the urge to apologize for scandalizing them all, but Gilbert could not have been less embarrassed.

“Anne’s come to visit!” he exclaimed, as if his excitement had bubbled over beyond his control. Then, remembering to maintain _some_ semblance of decorum, he said, “Everyone, this is Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, my sweetheart from back home that I’ve been telling you about. Anne, this is Fred, Trevor, and Priscilla. You know Ron.” 

“Ah, the ever famous Anne-with-an-E,” the same lad from before, Fred, appraised. He offered a friendly hand, which Anne accepted immediately. “It feels like we all already know you with how much Gilbert talks about you.” 

“The feeling is mutual, Mr. Wright,” Anne chuckled. Fred grinned when she remembered his name. “It certainly is a delight to put such lovely faces to names I’ve only read in letters. Thank you for taking care of this afoot-and-lighthearted man of mine. I’ve rested easier knowing that he’s been in good hands.” 

Priscilla extended her own hand to Anne, except when the redhead moved to shake it, Priss pulled her down beside her and tucked her arm through Anne’s elbow.

“Gilbert, I think I am quite taken with this lady of yours. I’ll be seizing her from your hands presently, if she doth not protest,” she said with a dramatic flair. 

Priss, Anne recalled from Gilbert’s letters, was one of the only women in Gilbert’s medicine department. It had taken a headstrong Emily Oak single handedly battling against a conference room of a male admissions officers to get them to _consider_ accepting Priscilla’s application. After which, she exceeded every expectation of her academic success, and soared past Gilbert as top of the class. _Someone has to keep you on your toes while you’re at school,_ Anne had said in a letter. _Maybe,_ Gilbert replied, _but if there’s anyone to concede to - and it can’t be you - I’m not opposed to it being Priss._ _You’d like her a lot._

“I come willingly!” Anne laughed. “I want to hear all about what it’s like to be the only female presence in your classes. You must have thrilling tales of battling unfairness and conquering injustice.”

“I do!” Priss replied earnestly.

“I admire you so much for it! Gilbert and I have some stories of our own if you’d ever like to hear them. Although, I do think I’d much rather hear yours first!” 

“Don’t tempt her,” Gilbert joked, settling down at Anne’s free side. “She means it when she says she’ll steal you away indefinitely, and I won’t have that.” 

A breeze caught some of Gilbert’s cologne and drifted the familiar scent to Anne, who smiled when it graced her. It meant he was close, _here_. Already, Toronto was every bit as captivating as she expected, but his persistent loving smile had much to do with it. 

“This lot has heard all the stories I have to tell. I’d much rather learn more about you, Anne,” Priss stated. Her eyes wandered along Anne’s auburn curls, but her nose scrunched when she noticed a knotted fluff on the back of her head. “Gilbert has gone and kissed you with no consideration for your hair. Please allow me to remedy that for you.” 

Laughter bubbled out of Anne, and she angled her back so that Priss might detangle the mess Gilbert had left. 

“If you have anything you’d like to know, ask away. I’m an open book,” Anne said, glancing around the circle. 

“Gilbert told us he had an apprenticeship with PEI’s _best_ doctor. How true is that?” Trevor spoke up. He was a young man with a round face and a fleshy scar under his eye. But it gave his personage no hint of villainy. In fact, he reminded her of Moody back home. Perhaps this poor fellow was just as clumsy.

“Ah, I see. I am to fact-check. It’s true, at least in common opinion. Dr. Ward was Charlottetown’s best doctor, but he treasured Gilbert’s family. In fact, I’ve just gone to him for my annual check up. It’s no wonder he took Gilbert under his wing because they truly are quite alike.” 

“He took care of my father when he was sick, and then my sister-in-law when she was ill,” Gilbert added. Anne found his hand and pressed it to her lips. How hard it must’ve been to be away from home when your heart was still grieving. 

“Isn’t that the same doctor Winifred worked for?” Ron piped in. Gilbert stiffened. 

“Who’s Winifred?” Priss questioned innocently, but frowned when she noticed the subtle droop in Anne’s shoulders. 

“ _Ron-”_ exasperated Gilbert, but Trevor held up a hand. 

“No, now I want to know, too.” 

Gilbert was determined not to answer, and even more resolute to change the subject. He didn’t intend to spend his first weekend with Anne since he’d left talking about the past. Not when there was so much future to look forward to, not when there was so much of the present to enjoy. But Anne had said they could ask any questions they wished, so she gave a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. 

“She was the girl Gilbert was courting during our last year at school. I met her at the county fair in the summer,” she answered evenly. 

This stunned the group to silence, except Ron, who had, by then, heard the entire story. 

“You all don’t go around airing your dirty laundry and mistakes,” Gilbert defended against their judging stares.

It was too late. Fred was now too deeply invested in the story and leaned his elbows onto his knees to look Anne in the eye.

“That must’ve been difficult, trying to get along with someone you didn’t like for Gilbert’s sake.” 

“Oh, I liked her well enough,” Anne admitted. 

“You weren’t jealous?” 

Anne’s gaze fell to brick of the steps. She didn’t mind Gilbert’s _friends_ knowing, but it was different to have Gilbert hear it. Somehow, the pain she’d felt during those days felt private and shameful. To expose feelings which had long since dissipated now would only cause Gilbert discomfort. 

Eventually, she confessed, “I was sick with envy. But there wasn’t anything about Winifred to dislike. Her family was charitable and she was friendly, not to mention _gorgeous._ Avonlea was so pleased at the match that I resigned myself to the notion that sometimes one must swallow their grief in favor of a friend’s happiness.” 

Priss let go of Anne’s hair to take her hand, squeezing it gently. At that moment, Anne realized she was being understood, and the comfort it brought made her throat thick. She wouldn’t meet Gilbert’s eyes, even though she could see his fingers twitching against the urge to reach out to her. 

“The victory is yours to brag to all of Avonlea about,” Priss said quietly. “I’ll help you if you’d like! Teach those Avonlea folk who to underestimate.” 

“That’s alright,” said Anne sweetly. Finally, she met Gilbert’s gaze and found dense with his own shame. “The victory is mine and Gilbert’s alone. All of Avonlea knows about about it now, and the people who care about me are happy. It doesn’t matter to me what the others are saying.” 

“What are they saying?” Gilbert said. 

“Really, Gil-” Anne interrupted, but his brows creased and she gave an unconvincing shrug. “All they’re saying is that it must be terrible to be someone’s second choice.” Gilbert’s mouth snapped open, the argument nearly off his tongue when Anne rushed to finish. “But I _know_ that’s not true, so what does it matter?”

Anne supposed it occurred to Gilbert right at that very moment that perhaps she’d had left some important truths out of her letters when she said that the unpleasantness of the Winifred situation was long forgotten. 

“Golly, I’m sorry I wanted to know,” Trevor murmured awkwardly. 

Anne released a sigh, and with it some of the tension she’d been holding in her heart. 

“In truth, it’s actually quite the story. One of two unreceived letters of love declarations, dancing, and rushing through Charlottetown for last chances.” 

“That sounds right out of a Jane Austen novel,” Priss swooned. 

“I thought so too,” Anne agreed, a blush blooming on her cheeks. “But for the sake of the gentlemen in our group, why don’t I choose another story of dramatic adventure for them? Like the time Gilbert and I battled a house fire together?” 

This had Fred and Trevor intrigued enough that Anne began to weave the tale together with the tenderness for storytelling she always had. Within the first few words, Gilbert’s friends came to discover he hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d said she was a gifted storyteller. With ease, she painted the vivid image of the burning Gillis house in their minds. They could feel the heat on their cheeks and smell the smoke. Gilbert, whose heart was still tight from Anne’s forgiveness and his own remorse, couldn’t help himself from leaning forward and press his lips to her cheek. She only stuttered her story for half a second, giggling and holding his head to her. 

“I don’t even think his jacket got singed, but I was covered in soot by the end of the night,” Anne said through her laughter. He hadn’t quite pulled back when someone rushed up to them. 

“Here you are! I’ve been looking everywhere for-” 

Anne paused her story and looked up to see a tall young woman with black silk for hair and a delicate porcelain face gawking at her with something Anne couldn’t place. Horror? Shock? Revulsion? As soon as it was there, though, the raw emotion faded away, and the woman turned to Gilbert with practiced neutrality. It took Gilbert a split second to realize he was being addressed, his face still close to Anne’s. 

“Gilbert, we’re going to be late for Global Histories if you don’t hurry,” the woman stated, almost through her teeth. 

“It was awfully kind of you to come find me, but I think I’m going to skip my last two classes for the day. If you could tell Professor Harden that I’ve got someone in town visiting me, I’d appreciate it.” He stood, pulling Anne to her feet and bringing her over to the woman. “Anne, meet Christine Stuart, Ron’s sister. Christine, Anne,” he introduced. 

“Your...sister?” Christine asked hopefully. 

Anne snorted, and nudged Gilbert. 

“If I was, he wouldn’t be nearly this handsome. Gilbert is _thankfully_ not my brother, but my suitor. It’s wonderful to meet you, Miss Stuart,” Anne said warmly. She couldn’t tell how, but Christine seemed awfully familiar. Then, all at once, she placed the resemblance. “You look exactly like a story character I created when I was a girl. You can only imagine how much an eight-year-old orphan longed to have the looks and grace of a princess!” 

Christine was neither charmed, nor flattered. 

“How delightful,” she said dubiously. Remembering something, she spun to Gilbert. “Does this mean you aren’t going to the Autumn Banquet tomorrow?” 

“I suppose that just depends on Anne. I’d be fine either way,” Gilbert replied. 

“My goodness, that’s _this_ weekend, isn’t it?” Anne cried. She placed her hand on Gilbert’s shoulder, and very narrowly missed Christine glaring at it. “I was so eager to get here after Bash asked me to that I completely forgot you had made plans. Of course you must still attend the banquet! I don’t mind leaving you alone for a few hours. It's important!” 

The Autumn Banquet, as it turned out, was a ball put on by the Toronto Science Department annually to allow the students to network and meet their professors, as well as visiting professionals in a range of fields. Gilbert had been preparing his good first impressions for weeks - successfully, too, after Anne had given him a constant stream of support in her letters. 

“Nonsense! You’d be welcome to attend with me. I’d appear exponentially more intelligent escorting you,” Gilbert insisted. “Anyone who doesn’t take to you, Anne, is someone I don’t want to be around.” 

Christine wrinkled her nose at this, and folded clenched fists behind her back. 

“Then who will take me?” Christine tried to sound curious instead of frustrated, but her performance fell flat. 

“Science isn’t your department, Chris. But if you’re eager to go, I’ll take you,” Ron offered. 

Christine frowned. 

“I’d take you too!” Fred cut in. She opened her mouth to argue, but realizing that her options were running dim, pressed her lips together and nodded.

“That’d be fine, Mr. Wright. Thank you.” 

“And you’ll go, Anne?” Gilbert said hopefully. 

“I wouldn’t miss it!” she agreed, before groaning and biting her lip. “Except I’ve nothing to wear. I brought one of my old Green Gables dresses with me. Appropriate for milking cows, but certainly not for balls.” 

“You can borrow one of Christine’s. I’m certain they’d fit,” Ron said.

Christine might’ve rebuffed this with a fury, but then Gilbert turned to her with optimistic eyes and said, “I could bring Anne over and then you could come with us to the banquet, after all!” 

It was then that Anne realized that Christine’s heart wasn’t thorny because of a predisposition. The second Christine had met Gilbert’s hazel gaze, her hard exterior had melted, a blush arose on her cheeks, and she brushed a loose strand of hair away from her face. Anne waited to feel threatened or anxious, but instead, she could only sympathize with Christine. After all, it wasn’t long ago she herself had accidentally stumbled upon the knowledge that Gilbert was previously engaged. 

“If that makes you uncomfortable, then I’d be more than happy to go in what I’ve packed. People will understand once they hear that I’d surprised him without previous planning,” Anne supplied, but Christine was determined to save Gilbert’s opinion of her. 

“Not at all, I’d be happy to loan you a dress. Stop by tomorrow and I’ll do your hair, as well. It is such a lovely shade of red,” she said politely. 

“That’s very gracious of you, Miss Stuart, thank you,” Anne replied honestly. She tried to take the cordiality as a victory, but before she could, she saw the envy lining the edges of Christine’s green eyes. 

“Well, Global Histories awaits. I’ll see you all tomorrow at the banquet.” Her dress caught dandelion floss as she disappeared away toward her class, but she didn’t look back. 

Christine had only been gone a moment before Gilbert took Anne’s hands in his. 

“What do you say I show you around Toronto a little bit. There’s a park nearby that has all the trees a redheaded dryad like you could want.” Anne cocked a brow. “For a city, that is. Just you and me?” 

“That sounds nice,” Anne agreed, a warm smile dimpling her cheeks. She turned to the group who had split off into their own conversation. “I’m so glad I got the chance to meet you all. Thank you for your kindness. It seems there are kindred spirits even 1000 miles from home.” At this, Anne smiled at Priss. 

“We’ll see you at the banquet tomorrow,” Priss said, with a wave. 

They’d made it halfway across the yard when Ron called out, “Don’t forget to bring that report to Dr. Oak, Gil!” 

Gilbert groaned and slumped over a little, before shooting Anne an apologetic smile. 

“I don’t mind a detour,” she promised, much to her beau’s relief. 

Off they went, up the brick paths of the campus, still lined with flowers and their last lingering traces of life. Anne was the recipient of many impressed glances as Gilbert’s classmates offered passing hello’s and how-do-you-do’s, an unexpected phenomena that fed her healing pride. Before long, they were passing through the grandiose corridors of the medicine department where the air smelled of formaldehyde and rubbing alcohol. Anne wrinkled her nose at the overwhelming scent, but Gilbert seemed already accustomed to it. The hallways were completely quiet other than the sound of the faint murmur of nearby classes and the _clicking_ of Anne’s heels. 

They came upon Dr. Oak’s office, only to find the door closed. Gilbert sifted through his bag until he retrieved an ivory stack of parchment, then after a moment of awkward hesitation, he slid it under the door. They turned to walk away when a muffled voice called from inside the office, “Gilbert? Is that you?” 

“Wait here a moment,” he told Anne, squeezing her hand. 

Just as Gilbert opened the door to enter, an older gentleman emerged out of the room. He gave a brief, polite nod to Gilbert as he passed, before sparing a glance at the waiting Anne. A jolt of awe surged through her, the same one she’d felt when she’d met Bash, Ms. Stacy, Ka’kwet, and Priscilla. It was as if her mind was prodding her saying, _This is a person who is changing the world. Listen to their stories, share in their worldview, let them teach you._

The man was an educator just by the looks of him. He wore his fearlessness on his broad shoulders and had skin a cool shade of brown. Only fueling to Anne’s growing fascination was a familiar book tucked under his arm. 

“Excellent taste in literature, sir,” she complimented shyly. The man stopped his strong steps and peered down at Anne with amusement. He pulled the book from his arms and held it out before her, a glint lighting his eyes when her face fell. 

“I didn’t think I’d ever meet a fan of _Tristram Shandy_. How rare such a moment is,” he teased. Anne bit her tongue, suddenly wishing she could crawl into a hole for a winter long hibernation. 

“Oh, how I wish I could attest that that I am a fan of Laurence Stern’s work,” she began with failing enthusiasm. “Unfortunately, I mistook that volume as a copy of _Middlemarch,_ which shares the likeness. I’m afraid I have to regretfully rescind my compliment. _Tristram Shandy_ is deplorable.” 

The man let out a hearty laugh and stuffed the dreaded text back into his satchel. 

“That is quite alright. It’s is an acquired taste for a peculiar type of palate. I prefer Eliot myself, though I find it’s a dangerous pastime ‘for we all of us, grave or light, get our thoughts entangled in metaphors, and act fatally on the strength of them _.’_ ”

Anne grinned. She, too, had quotes up her sleeves.

“Yet, I wouldn’t trade such powerful literature for the world. After all, ‘it is always fatal to have poetry or music interrupted’ and removing prose and posey from my life would certainly result in my ruination.”

If the pleased smirk on his face was any indication, Anne had successfully made another kindred spirit. 

“I’m offering a class on women authors next semester. You should take it, Miss…”

“Shirley-Cuthbert, sir. Anne Shirley-Cuthbert. I’d be delighted to, only I’m not a student here. I’m just in Toronto for the weekend visiting my beau, the young man speaking with Dr. Oak.” 

“I see. Encourage him to find some time in his busy medical program to take the class just for the joy of it. I’m Dr. Clarence Sullivan if he asks.”

“I certainly will, thank you!” Anne cheered. He gave her a nod and an accompanying smile before stepping away to his next engagement. 

“Oh, and Anne,” he called out over his shoulder. She quirked a red brow. “If you’re ever visiting again during the week, you’re welcome to sit in on one of my classes. I feel you could provide my students with a fresh perspective.” 

Before she could respond, he had disappeared down another corridor, leaving her alone for only a few seconds before Gilbert had closed Dr. Oak’s door behind him. 

“Sorry about that. Shall we?” He offered her his arm, which Anne accepted. A fluttering excitement bloomed once again throughout her entire chest, growing bigger and bigger against her ribs. As they began to walk, Gilbert cleared his throat.“Dr. Oak wanted to meet you, but she has a meeting in a minute.” 

“There will be plenty of time to meet her on my future visits. I just met Dr. Sullivan from the English department. Any man that can quote _Middlemarch_ without hesitation is a kindred spirit. He enlisted me to convince you to take his class on female authors next semester.” 

“I haven’t taken that many classes outside of my medical curriculum, so it’d be long overdue. I’ll talk to Dr. Oak about fitting it in my schedule,” Gilbert agreed heartily. 

As they exited the building, a warm autumn breeze swept across Anne’s freckles, carrying with it the perfume of fallen leaves and the last faint blooms of the garden. 

“The longer I’m here, the more it seems I could just toss my train ticket to the air and stay here by your side,” she murmured against the wind. 

“Don’t taunt me with promises you don’t intend to keep, Miss Shirley,” Gilbert teased. Without warning, he wrapped his arm around her waist and tugged her closer. “Any more talk like that, and I’ll be inclined to whisk you into my arms and drag you to all my classes. Queens be damned!” 

Their laughter carried them to the city gardens where the trees released their sunset leaves to the open air and the pair walked without care or worry down the dusty path. 

*

Without knowing it Anne and Gilbert stepped into Lovegrove’s Restaurant sharing the exact same thought: _So this is what it’s like to be courting._ The whole affair felt entirely new — even for Gilbert, who had been attributed some experience in courtship. In the dim lighting of the dining room, Anne was the picture of elegance, so familiar and beloved to him that he knew his heart wasn’t racing in anxiety, but anticipation. Suddenly, he felt a keen readiness to pull out her chair for her, to accidentally nudge her feet under the table, to listen to her speak her mind and to be listened to in return. It hadn’t been that way with Winifred. He wasn’t nervous about misstepping or doing something wrong. With Anne, he could be himself unapologetically and be certain she’d accept him unconditionally. 

On her part, Anne was still a novice in being the center of a person’s attention. During their walk, through the park, she found herself slightly unaccustomed to the unashamed adoration in Gilbert’s attentive gaze. And now, as he fulfilled his every urge to be her perfect gentleman, Anne couldn’t help but feel a blush rising to her cheeks. 

As the host lead them to their table, she felt him brush his fingers against hers. A chill traveled up to her elbow, and she bit her lips against a shy smile. Her smile only grew as he uttered a sweet compliment in her ear, pulling her chair out for her with scarcely veiled pride. “You look lovely.” 

Anne dropped her shy gaze. She didn’t look any different than any other time he saw her. Maybe it was how he always saw her? After all, she felt the same way about him. 

When he settled across the table, they gave the waiter their orders and stared at each other in breathless anticipation. Where could they begin? Nothing had changed terribly, except that their friendship involved quite a bit more kissing and a lot less arguing than it had in years past. Anne’s mind rushed, hoping she could find a satisfying dinner conversation. 

“Anne.” Her gaze snapped up to his, and it occurred to her maybe he’d called once or twice already. “Relax. You look like you’re afraid I’ll reach across the table and bite you.” 

It was only then that Anne felt tight tension in her own shoulders and her fists clenched together on her place setting. Gilbert reached across the table, taking her hand and shaking it gently. A small smile lifted the corners of her mouth, and the tension dissipated. 

“It feels just like that day I last saw you. As if no time at all has passed,” she confessed. “Yet, I’ve read all about your first two months of university over and over. How strange it is that that happens.” 

“I know the feeling,” Gilbert agreed. “Sometimes I remember our early days in school and I think, _This isn’t the same girl you’ve cared for all this time. It’s your imagination tricking you._ But mercifully, you’re no trick of the mind.” 

“I spent much more time than I realized imagining about you - even when I thought I hated you. And you know how my imagination is.” 

“Really?” Gilbert murmured, both shy and delighted.

“Of course.” Anne shrugged. “At first, they were just intrusive daydreams, tiny moments where I’d find myself picturing you smiling or writing calculations on your slate. Then when you were gone, I’d look out at the ocean and play all the different ways you’d return back home. In some of them you were a grown man finding me on the shores. Others took place the very second I imagined them, as if had expected you to appear out of nowhere. I never confronted the possibility you wouldn’t come back. It’s like part of me always knew. Of course, a point came when my imaginings took an unavoidably romantic turn.” 

Gilbert had been stunned speechless, and Anne felt another hot blush color her freckles. 

“I’m sorry, that was incredibly forward of me,” she said quietly. 

“No no!” he stammered. “No, I just...still can’t believe you’ve been thinking of me as long as I’ve been pining after you.” 

“And I can’t believe you longed for me right under my nose, and I never knew! The entire idea seemed impossible, but I clung to the possibility that you might care the same way children don’t want to suspend their belief in magic. In fact, if you hadn’t brought... guests to the county fair, I would’ve probably confronted you.”

Gilbert’s eyes widened. Then, to level the playing field he made his own quiet admission.

“If you hadn’t mentioned Ruby, I probably would’ve posted about you on the Notice Board. Even after you did, I still considered it. Had a few notices planned.” 

An image came across her mind - one where she’d approach the Take Notice board, only to find a beautiful message written in his familiar scrawl. She would’ve taken it down gently, saved it somewhere special, maybe even written one or two of her own. 

“We’ve been just barely missing each other all this time,” Anne said, somewhat mournfully. 

“Not anymore,” Gilbert reminded her.

“No,” she agreed. “And not ever again.” 

Eventually, their meals came, and the conversation took a lighter turn. Now that she’d had met all of his friends, she was more interested in hearing more about them. In turn, Gilbert - much to her immense surprise - wanted to hear all about the Avonlea girls and their various exploits. When she’d mentioned how excited she was to be learning sign language with Lily, his face had brightened. 

“Can you show me some?” he asked eagerly. 

Anne pondered this, remembering all her favorite practice sentences or the books she’d signed while she read. Instead, she decided on something she’d never signed before. Gilbert watched her hands, trying to catch any semblance of meaning, but fell back in his seat. 

“I couldn’t even begin to guess!” he laughed. Anne repeated the question, this time speaking aloud while she did it. 

“ _What did your T-A-K-E N-O-T-I-C-E note say?”_ Then, occupying her hands with her cutlery once more, she said, “Do you remember?” 

Gilbert’s smile was warm and open. He nodded, murmuring his reply as if it were a secret he had long ago packed away. “ _One day Gilbert will be brave enough to tell Anne the truth_ ,” he recalled. “I almost wasn’t.”

“Don’t torture yourself with ‘almosts’. Believe me, my experience with them is vast.” She tried to keep her voice light, but Gilbert could sense the underlying weight. “Marilla and Matthew _almost_ didn’t let me stay, we _almost_ didn’t save Miss. Stacy’s job, you _almost_ didn’t make it in time to end our misunderstandings. But all those things ended up for the better, just as they were meant to.”

“You’re right, not that I’m surprised,” he conceded with a fond smile. A mischievous glint flickered in his eye. “If you could’ve written a notice about me, what would you have said?” 

Anne released a laugh that was almost too loud for the establishment. To dangle the poor boy in suspense, she playfully tapped her finger to her lips. She waited until he was halfway through a sip of tea to say, “Anne thinks Gilbert has a marvelously, splendid chin.” 

And if nearby diners glared at them while Gilbert coughed and laughed, then that was their business. The Avonlea pair was none the wiser, content to be alone in their own little corner of the world, together at last.

*

Nighttime came far too soon for Gilbert’s liking. Yet, he found himself warming to the idea as Anne waited for him to finish washing in his room. He came back, fresh and clean, ready to be in her company once more. What he saw made him heave a lovesick sigh. 

It was moments like these that he wished he could go back in time to somehow convince some famous painter to follow him back to the present and capture the moment before him. A photograph wouldn’t do, not when a thousand different hues of orange and gold glinted off of Anne’s loose hair in the candlelight and the silver of the moonlight turned her lacy nightdress to crystal. Surely Renoir or Monet would understand the exquisite beauty of Anne stargazing into the Toronto sky. Still, there was much to be said about Gilbert getting to keep this sight entirely to himself. 

Leaning against his door frame - for fear that any movement would shatter the moment - Gilbert felt like the wind was sweeping his feet out from underneath him, pulling him into the skies above the dewy grass and the tall cityscape. Love was pulling him under its stupor, it seemed, but he was more than willing to follow. Where else could he go, except toward a future with Anne’s tender support and unyielding affection to warm him?

Yet, there was something that he could not withstand ignoring any longer. 

“You didn’t mention had a bay window,” Anne said lightly, glancing back at the half-lit Gilbert waiting at the edge of the room. Her brows creased together when he remained unmoving. “What’s wrong? Is it because I’m in here, because if it is, I don’t mean to make you a stranger in your own bedroom?” 

He wasn’t going to ask her to leave. Not when Ron just confessed to them that _Actually, I forgot I’ve been using the guest room as storage. Anne’s more than welcome to use the bed, but the floor is covered in cases._ They’d taken a peek inside, only to find that even the bed was covered in Ron’s many belongings. Anne had assured them she didn’t mind sleeping on the sofa downstairs, but Gilbert insisted she sleep in his bed. He’d sleep on the sofa. 

Another cloud came over his thoughts. He should sleep outside in the cold for all he put her through. How long could he keep pretending he’d done nothing wrong? How much longer could he ignore that he’d done little on the front of atonement?

“Gilbert?” Anne called softly. His hazy vision cleared and he found Anne’s soft lips pressed together in worry. She’d moved to the edge of the window seat, clutching it so tightly that her knuckles turned white. Gilbert rushed to pull together his thoughts, but they were racing at a million miles a minute with no coherent end in sight. The words she said next made all the roaring his head turn silent. “If you want me to leave, I can take the midnight train.” 

“N-no!” he stammered out of his contemplation, his instincts working on his behalf.

The fingers Gilbert had been anxiously holding together fell limp at his side. Mind suddenly clear, he crossed the room so softly, as if approaching a frightened animal. Her stormy sea eyes widened when he dropped to his knees before her - a gesture of prostration, but one that put him on her eye level. 

“Anne, if I could have every one of my dreams exactly how I imagined them, you would _never_ leave my side. You’d sit here in this window every night, and I’d watch the movement in your imagining eyes in hopes that might be thinking of me.” He paused. “Do you think you could ever forgive me for being so selfish?”

“Gilbert-” Anne scolded gently, but he shook his said. 

“I am so ashamed. I’ve been selfish _and_ foolish. I should’ve known better than to think I’ve atoned for the pain I caused you, that heartache you felt was over. I’ve been so caught up in my own happiness, that I forgot I ever wronged you. I should’ve known better than anyone that heartache doesn’t merely disappear when it becomes irrelevant. But that ends right now. I don’t have much to offer you right now, but what I can give you are certainties, things that will never change.” 

He took one of her hands, covering it with a soft touch, and brought it above his heart. It raced under her fingertips, matching the pace of her own heart. With a shaky sigh, he continued. 

“I’m certain that you’ve never been second best to anyone or anything, especially when it comes to me, because you’re the only person ever I adored with my entire soul. I’m certain that no matter what adventures life sweeps you away on, I want to be by your side, upholding you, protecting you, being your strength. I’m certain that you will always have a safe space with me to talk and dream and cry and speak your mind without restraint. But most of all, Anne, I’m certain that I love you. I will love you enough to make up for all the times you felt like it was impossible that anyone ever could.” 

A tear slid down the side of Anne’s nose - then another, then another - but still she said nothing. With her one hand still pressed up Gilbert’s heart, she lifted the other one to the side of his face, caressing his cheek with the back of her fingers. He leaned into her touch, closing his own glossy eyes. 

“I wonder if you could forgive me for my moments of doubt,” Anne muttered. Gilbert met her gaze and his soul sighed as if to say _There’s nothing to forgive_. With a fraction of movement, he leaned upwards smiling when she shortened the distance. Her hair draped along the sides of his face when she brought her lips onto his, curtaining them away from the rest of the world. He inhaled a deep breath when she wrapped her arms around his waist and pulled him up to sit with her on the window seat. 

Anyone peering up from the road through the lace drapes would have seen Gilbert take Anne’s face in both hands and kiss her with unapologetic ardor. The lady herself found her hands tangled in his hair, chest heaving against his own as she battled the need for air with the pressing desire to keep kissing him. For the first time in her life, she felt desirable and invincible, incandescently overjoyed to have her past fears be proven so wrong. 

Another tear slid down, sending salt onto her tongue. Gilbert pulled back with a warm smile, his cheeks dimpling with adoration as he brushed aside her tears. Anne was helpless to do anything but gaze up in wonderment and say the only words she knew, “I love you so terribly, Gilbert Blythe.” 

A tiny, lovesick chuckle escaped his lips before he could hold it back. In seconds, Anne was wrapped in his arms, her face buried into his neck where he smelled so comfortingly like home that she couldn’t help but grin. The slightness of her frame fit against the strength of his arms and shoulders, and suddenly, Anne forgot all the consequences of refusing to let him go. 

“Anne,” Gilbert murmured in her ear. 

“Hmm?” 

He shivered as her fingers trailed down his back through his nightshirt. 

“I’m so sorry that I hurt you. Believe me when I swear to you it won’t happen again.” 

Anne pulled back just enough to rest her forehead to his. 

“I’m the one that hurt you,” Anne said quietly. “Can you forgive me for that too?”

Gilbert kissed her brow, then tucked her back into his embrace. 

"It's water under the bridge."

Later that night, Anne was wrapped in the cozy blankets of his bed, engulfed in his scent and warmed by his presence in the doorway as he took his last looks of her. For a moment, Gilbert allowed himself the briefest of daydreams - one where he was a doctor disappearing into the night to take care of a patient and Anne was his sleepy wife bidding him goodnight. But instead of whispering her tender farewell, she said, “Wouldn’t you be warmer if you slept here?” 

“I already told you, I won’t let you sleep on the sofa. It’s entirely too uncomfortable.”

“I _meant_ , wouldn’t you be warmer if you slept here... with me,” Anne said shyly, propping herself up on her elbow. 

Gilbert swallowed. The only thing he loved more than a good night’s rest was spending time with Anne. Combine the two and the offer was far too alluring for him to pass up. He muttered a soft _Alright_ before blowing out the last candle and sitting on the bed’s edge opposite of Anne. She lifted the blankets for him, tucking them around his shoulders when he settled down into the soft mattress. Her familiar warmth began its work easing away the last traces of his troubled heart until nothing was left but the gentleness of her presence and the faint scent of her soap. He reached out and folded their fingers together, kissing them, before settling them on the pillow between them. 

“Goodnight, my love,” he whispered. 

“Goodnight, my love,” Anne mirrored. 

The creaking sounds of the old house singing its night time lullabies lulled them to sleep, but sweeter yet was the faint breathing on the neighboring pillow and their gentle shared dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (My pure hatred for Tristram Shandy has reared its head in this chapter, but I couldn't help it. I despise it so. If you've never read it, do a google image search). 
> 
> I'd love to know what you thought about this, mostly because I struggled my redheaded butt off trying to get it perfect. It isn't, but I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless! 
> 
> If you ever wanna chat, I'm on tumblr! ~@royalcordelia ♥


	6. (1.06) Something So Precious About This (Oh, What a Sin)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief interlude to satisfy the reader while the authoress lessens her academic burdens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends! I have been so humbled at the positive feedback on this story. It thrills me to see you all enjoy this adventure so dearly! I figured, in the spirit of transparency, I would let you all know that my school course load is making it INCREDIBLY difficult to find time to write. I'm in theatre rehearsals until the late evening, and it seems like every minute of my time is occupied. I managed to write this chapter at work when my store was quiet. I'll be working on this story whenever I can, but it might take a smidge longer than usual. 
> 
> tldr: Have a fluffy snack to tide you over ♥
> 
> (If you know where the chapter title comes from, you have an extra sprinkle of my love)

Anne woke up the next morning to her favorite sound. As she stretched out her toes and gave a little sigh, she listened to the birds perched outside the window chirping their friendly greetings. Blinking her eyes open, she squinted against the bright sun drenching the bed. Her hand sought the empty space beside her, the lingering trace of someone’s heat fading ever more away. She frowned. Where was Gilbert? 

Then, the undeniable scratching of a pen against paper rose faintly from across the room. Anne’s eyes followed the sound, glinting an icy blue color when they found Gilbert hunched over his desk. His elbow moved quickly as if he were hurriedly jotting down his every ounce of his heart he could pour out. Every few moments, he’d pause to gather his thoughts, before taking to the paper with a renewed vigor. Anne was pleased to continue to watch him, pondering all the different things racing from his mind to his paper. He dropped his head back to the ceiling with a slow exhale, then noticed a sleepy Anne peering up at him with smiling eyes. 

“Good morning,” he said sweetly. 

“How long have you been awake?” she asked with another stretch. 

“Long enough to write half of my next letter to you. I wanted to get a head start so that you have plenty of reading material on the train ride home tomorrow.” 

Anne knew it was pointless to try to bite back her grin. How could she when Gilbert looked so dear with his uncombed hair and suspenders down at his waist? A pool of heat shot from her heart down to her stomach at the reverent tenderness in his own smile. She pictured herself sliding out of bed, padding barefoot across his floor, and draping herself around his shoulders. But when her hand fell against the spot he’d lain, a better idea crossed her mind. 

“How romantic it would’ve been to wake up beside you,” she said dramatically, falling back against the pillows. “Tell me, Gil, was it terribly poetical?” 

Gilbert quirked a brow, pressing his lips togethers. “Oh, very terribly.” 

“I know Mrs. Gillis says that reenactment is unchristian because it’s essentially lying...but if you wanted to _share_ a few details, then I wouldn’t object.” 

The message rang loud and clear to Gilbert, who shot to his feet, crossed the room in two strong strides, and buried himself under the blankets with impressive speed. Laughter burst out of Anne as the mattress bounced at the impact. The warmth of her presence had already begun permeating over to him, refreshing against his cool skin. Much to her delight, Gilbert wrapped his arms around her, pulling her so that her head rested comfortably against his chest. Under her ear, the strong and steadfastness of his heart kept time like a pocket watch. Anne was never so pleased to listen the seconds tick away, the only reminder than time itself had not slowed to a halt. She shivered as his lips pressed into her hair, and she shifted so that she might return the embrace. 

“This close, your hair smells like the honeysuckles Mary used to plant,” he murmured into her hair. Humming in content satisfaction, he continued, “I woke just like this to the sound of some people laughing outside the window. I thought you might be awake because you were running your fingers up and down my back, but then you sighed in your sleep and turned around.” 

Keeping up with the story, he nudged her so that she’d turn her back to him. Anne let her eyes fall shut, pulling his arm around her waist so she could hold it against her breast. He pressed a soft kiss to her cheek, reveling in the silence of the morning. 

“And this is where I stayed - that is, until Ron dropped something in his room and I weighed the possibility of him walking in on us like this. The man refuses to knock.”

Anne’s frame shook with small chuckles. In the distant corners of her mind, she wondered that Ron wouldn’t particularly care if he saw them like this. Even if the man wanted to know every detail of everyone’s business all the time, he was not a fellow of judgement. That was part of what she liked so much about him, she supposed. She wished everyone could be like that. 

“Can I tell you something honestly?” she muttered. He hummed into her hair. “I don’t see what’s so wrong about this. Why is it so bad to lay here together like this?” 

Gilbert propped himself onto his elbow.

“You think it’s bad?” 

“No! No, I don’t think it’s bad at all. That’s the problem,” Anne rushed out. She craned her neck back so that he could see the honesty in her eyes. “If Rachel Lynde knew we were like this, we’d be married tomorrow with no chance of fulfilling our dreams. You’d have to work the farm and I’d be a farmer’s wife, just to distract the town from their silly notions of propriety. If _anyone_ in Avonlea knew, you know what they’d say. They’d make it so that I could never teach, nor you ever heal.”

Gilbert was quiet, and for once, Anne was unsure of what he was thinking. His grasp on her had loosened, so she tugged him closer and continued. “But now that I’ve lived it, I just can’t fathom what is so reprehensible. You’re my lifemate, Gilbert. And I’m happy, I’m safe, I’m loved. What’s so unholy about that?”

The answer might’ve been clearer if their embrace had been of a more passionate nature, but this innocent affection held nothing wrong that even Gilbert could see. He shared her opinion, feeling so unbelievably content that surely the good Lord would have nothing to reproach. After all, it was a certain twist of fate that led her to his arms. Shouldn’t humans enjoy and explore all the depths of their emotional capacity.

“I’m not sure that I’ll ever understand it. But I think a time will come when people will change their minds. But until then, we’ll just have to pretend that time is now,” Gilbert responded, running his fingertips over her arms. “Besides, Rachel Lynde is on her own island far, _far_ away from us. My conscience is crystal clear, Anne. I’m not ashamed.” 

Anne’s heart swelled. She spun in his arms and pressed a kiss to his nose. 

“Good. Then I’m not either.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the shorter length, my loves ♥ As always, if you ever want to chat, you know where to find me on tumblr - @royalcordelia!


	7. (1.07) Oh My Heart, How Can I Face You Now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again dearest of friends! Thank you for bearing with me during this long break! I'm especially grateful to all of you that have been leaving kudos, commenting, etc. You have no idea how much it makes my heart swell to know that you've enjoyed this story, even a little ♥
> 
> This chapter was quite interesting to write because the first draft looked MUCH different. I had to go back and return to Anne her Anne-ishness (both the good and the bad), for which is she loved and easily recognized. It's my hope you enjoy it! 
> 
> Special thanks to Alexis for giving me her honest opinion with all the love she has! Here's some advice, friends - when a person who has never critiqued your writing tells you something is wrong with the first draft, listen to them!

Anne fit in so well at the Sunset House that it was easy to forget she’d only been there less than a day. With a keen intuition, she knew exactly where to find things in the odd drawers and shelves around the kitchen as Ron held out his non-cooking hand. 

“Three eggs! The milk jug! A serving spoon!” 

“Aye aye, Captain,” Anne replied each time, dutifully helping her new friend prepare their first breakfast together. “I still wish you would’ve let me make breakfast. It’s the least I can do after I showed up entirely unannounced. Besides, Gilbert has had my cooking before, but I’ve never cooked _for_ him.”

“Stuff and nonsense,” shot Ron. “If anything, Gil should be the one cooking for _you_. After all, it’s only _polite_ to make a woman a meal after she’s spent a night in your bed. Especially when he snores.” 

“ _Ron!_ I didn’t-...He doesn’t snore! _”_

“But alas, Gilbert’s breakfast skills leave so much to be desired, even if they are improving. Poor man makes the same recipes over and over again - his sister-in-law’s from this tiny notebook he’s copied them down in. If it wasn’t for her, he’d still be eating bland vegetables and overcooked pork.”

Even Anne’s laughter sounded familiar bouncing off the cream walls and brightening the quiet Saturday morning. Above their heads, the running water of Gilbert’s bath kept the room from becoming completely silent. 

Ron found that it wasn’t a lack of things to say that caused his own stillness, but rather, a strange desire to open his entire heart to her. He supposed that was the danger with people who were so easy to like, so easy to talk to. The words fizzed in his throat, and if he moved even an inch, they’d pour out. _This is silly_ , he thought. _What’s there to lose?_

“Anne,” he began out of the blue. She snapped the gaze away from the autumn-crowned tree outside the window she’d been daydreaming with, joining reality once more and smiling her encouragement. “I’m absolutely, without a doubt one to make assumptions.” 

Having read as much, and more, in Gilbert’s letters, she replied, “I’m not sure that’s always a bad thing. Your assumptions have to be correct _some_ of the time.” 

Ron shifted in his seat, making sure he could hear Gilbert still in the bath upstairs. 

“And if I were to assume you’re a nonjudgmental sort of person, would I be correct then?” 

“I very much try to be,” she offered. 

Ron’s gaze fell to the wall where a small sized portrait of him and Christine was hung across the room. Why would it be easier to say this Anne than it ever would be to say to Chris? 

“There’s this tradition,” he began slowly. “Whenever the science department hosts its autumn banquet at the Meryton Hotel, it empties the basement of all its ornate tables and chairs, leaving it completely empty. That’s not the tradition part - what I _mean_ is, the students who aren’t smart or rich enough to go to the banquet ultimately end up working the event, but then they sneak away to host their own party in the basement. Their own dancing, their own music, their own drinks.” 

“That sounds like fun,” Anne responded honestly.

“The only reason I know about it is because, um, Adam told me about it.” 

“Who’s Adam?” 

Ron couldn’t bring himself to say it. Either that, or he couldn’t find the words to articulate everything it meant. Every ounce of shame and every speechless moment of awe that being with Adam brought was caught in his throat waiting to be spoken. His eyes had glazed over, focused on a patch of flour spilled on the counter, though his mind was miles away. Nudging his arm with hers, she leaned over and drew a smiling face into the flour. 

“It’s always been women _and_ men for me. I don’t know why,” he admitted aloud. The words loved the air they took, and Anne didn’t reject them. Instead, she only smiled. 

“A secret for a secret, Ron Stuart,” she replied just as quietly. “I’m the same way.” 

Anne was much shorter than him, and when she met his gaze head on, he saw the gold of her eyelashes. 

“Does Gilbert know?” 

She shrugged. “He might, but I’ve never said it. I don’t suppose it would make much of a difference to him. I can tell there isn’t a bit of me he doesn’t love, even the parts of me that he doesn’t know yet.” Wiping a bit of flour off of his sleeve, she added, “And he’s not the only one out there who loves unconditionally.”

“You think there’s hope for me yet?” Ron said, half teasing. 

“Ron, I have every hope for you,” Anne said seriously. The man’s protective smile fell and his eyes turned glassy.

Gilbert chose this moment to come leaping down the stairs two at a time in a way that was so distinctly _Gilbert,_ that a warm smile lifted on Anne’s cheeks. He heaved a blissful sigh upon entering the kitchen, carrying with him the smell of freshness and soap. The tips of his hair were still damp, but it didn’t stop him from wrapping his arms around Anne’s waist from behind and leaning his chin on her shoulder.

“Good morning, Anne-girl.” 

“Good morning to you too...again.” He smiled against her cheek. “That soap smells familiar,” she commented off handedly, laughing when he kissed her blush. 

“That’s because Marilla sent it.” 

“ _Marilla_?”

“Along with fresh socks, a ream of paper, and some of her preserves.” 

“She never sends _me_ anything!” 

“Sweetheart, you live less than an hour away from Avonlea! You probably live right next door to the post office she mailed the parcel from!” 

He was right, but she wasn’t about to _tell_ him that. 

“Besides, it was only once,” he added. Then, taking in the atmosphere of the room, he released Anne and sat down at the table. “Did I miss something important?” 

Ron schooled his features, looking for something useful to say but coming up flat. 

“A very important, very serious debate on adequate breakfast food,” Anne filled in. “Gilbert, you’re a medical student. Tell Ron that plain toast is not nearly adequate enough sustenance for breakfast. Omelets aren’t just for when guests are around.” 

“I could tell him that, but then I’d be a hypocrite.” 

“Toast is one of the only breakfast foods he can make, poor lad,” Ron interjected. “And even then, he burns it half of the time.” 

“Hmm, kind of like that?” Gilbert said slyly, pointing down to the pan where a piece of brown bread was burnt black and smoking against the skillet. Ron rolled his eyes, sticking his spatula under the bread and flinging it at his roommate. Gilbert caught the bread and hissed at how hot it was, flinging it onto the counter where it promptly slid into the sink. 

“I’m starting to get a sense of what daily life is like with you two,” Anne laughed. “Ron, something tells me you’d get along swimmingly with Bash.” 

*

Toronto had more wonders than Anne could count. In one short afternoon, Gilbert had taken her to roam the histories of the art museum and smell the sweetness of the botanical garden, but not excluded from these marvels was the Stuart Estate. Ron led the way as dirt streets became pristine brick, and small houses turned into domineering manors of stateliness. The working class of Toronto was but a mile away, but Anne felt like she’d stepped into another country - a wealthier, more outstanding country.

“His parents live _here?_ Have you ever been to his home before?” Anne whispered to Gilbert as Roy said a passing hello to someone on the street. Gilbert shook his head, just as awed by the grandeur around them. 

“I knew he was wealthy, but not _this_ wealthy.” 

“My apologies,” Ron said, returning to the group. “You were saying, Anne?”

“Oh! Well, the conservatory botanist was actually watching the child tear off the flowers from the corner of the room, and when he came roaring over, I thought the mother would perish on the spot.” 

“So Anne, being Anne, rushes over to them,” Gilbert added. 

“And I picked up all the flowers from the ground while the man was getting ready to whip the poor child. A few moments later, I was placing a flower crown atop his head. All I said to him was, ‘ _Forgive this imaginative child, oh king of the gardens’,_ and his anger died away.”

“You’ve an odd way with people, Anne. I doubt you’ve ever had a single enemy in all your days," Ron decided, shaking his head.

Anne’s mind flashed all the unpleasant faces she’d encountered over her short lifetime, each bringing a sour taste to her mouth. Her gaze fell to her dress, a bit plain on this side of town, and she remembered the enemy she might be meeting at her destination. 

Oh, Gilbert didn’t know Christine despised Anne, much less the reasons why, and Anne had done her best to stay optimistic inwardly and outwardly. She hoped Christine wouldn’t think her cruel, that she was only borrowing a dress to rub it in that _she_ was the one Gilbert loved. In fact, a person Gilbert held in such high esteem had to have redeeming qualities. Were it not for the barrier between them, Anne suspected her and Christine could be kindred spirits. 

“Home sweet home,” Ron muttered, swinging open an iron gate. 

The Stuart estate was built three stories tall of sand colored stones and sun-thirsty windows. Some of the gabled windows had their own balcony where a person could gaze out over the city for miles. Rounded hedges and a thousand blooms framed the home, though the flowers had started to brown in the autumn chill. As the group crossed onto the terrace, Ron’s mood dropped further and further into the dirt. He knocked on the front door, only to be greeted by a small, mousy servant girl. She eyed Ron first, then Anne, both with disapproval. Her gaze crossed over Gilbert with interest, so she spoke directly to him.

“How can I help you?” she said in a saccharine. Ron frowned.

“Are you new?” he asked. The young woman blinked and her brows furrowed as she decided whether to answer truthfully or scold him for his rudeness. “Nevermind that. Please tell Mr. Stuart that Ron is home.” 

The maid was unsure, but she did what she was told, making way so that the guests could file in behind her. 

“Why don’t you live here?” Anne asked quietly. 

“Remember that thing we talked about this morning?” 

Anne nodded.

 _"T_ _hat,_ ” Ron answered, just as a man a mere inch taller than Ron appeared from the side room. 

“Ronald, I’m surprised to see you.” The man’s voice bore a deep timbre, one only men of class seemed to possess. 

“Well, father, I do favor a visit every now and again.” 

Mr. Stuart’s hard brow softened, but only by a fraction. His hard stare fell on Anne and the kind smile on her lips.

“I’ve brought my friends with me. This is my roommate Gilbert Blythe, and his young lady, Anne Shirley Cuthbert. Anne surprised Gilbert with a visit all the way from Prince Edward Island, but she needs a dress to wear for tonight’s banquet.” 

“And you’ve come to ask for money?” Mr. Stuart deadpanned.

“Oh, not at all, sir!” Anne interjected. “Christine was ever so kind as to say that she might let me borrow one of her dresses. Personally I’d be comfortable in anything, but good appearances help maintain Gilbert’s reputation, and I’m only here for the weekend. If it suits you, I can wash and press the dress before I leave on the morning train.” Mr. Stuart was speechless, so Anne charged. “Your home is magnificent! I’ve only ever dreamed up such places, but being here now, please allow me to compliment your exquisite taste. Did much of the furniture come from overseas or is it purely Canadian?” 

Mr. Stuart cleared his throat when she was finished speaking and turned to Gilbert. 

“Mr. Blythe, are you quite sure about this one?” 

The smile which had arisen on Gilbert’s face listening to Anne be so unashamedly herself fell almost an imperceptible amount.

“ _Quite_ certain,” Gilbert assured, perhaps a bit harder than he intended. “Anne is PEI’s treasure.” 

Christine appeared at that moment, descending the stairs with the elegance of a fairy tale heroine. 

“I can entertain our company from here, father. You needn’t trouble yourself.” 

Anne steadied her face, desperately fighting off a bad feeling in her gut. She fell back at Gilbert’s side, sliding her arm through his and relaxing only a little when his other hand reached over to take the one on his arm. 

“Nonsense. I’d like an opportunity to catch up with my son and meet his friend. You may take the young lady up to your room and find her something adequate to wear,” declared Mr. Stuart. Gilbert and Anne exchanged a look that only they could decipher, but Anne bravely let go of Gilbert’s arm and followed Christine up the stairs. 

Out of the autumn wind that blew when she first met Christine, Anne was able to smell the lilac perfume Christine had sprayed about her neck and hair. She vaguely wondered if she should invest in some of her own, if Gilbert might like the sweetness of it.

“I cannot tell you how much I appreciate your help. I’m all but a stranger to you, and yet you’ve been so gracious,” Anne began. Christine did not turn around. “Um, if there’s anything I could do to repay you, don’t hesitate to name it. Truly, anything.” 

Christine tossed a bitter glance over her shoulder. 

“Your _silence_ will be payment enough,” Christine hissed so sharply that Anne nearly spun on her heels to fly down the stairs, yank Gilbert by the collar, and make for the Sunset house. But instead, she nodded politely and complied. 

When Christine opened the door to her room, Anne decided that if Christine was Cordelia, then this was the perfect bed chambers befitting her childhood ideal. A four post bed was pressed against the wall, silken pillows resting atop its lush quilts. A tall wardrobe was nearby, in addition to a walnut desk and a loveseat for reading. 

Christine threw open the doors of her wardrobe, eyeing the various gowns hanging within. Each one she pulled out made Anne’s heart soar with excitement. They were the most glorious dresses she’d ever seen, each just as breathtaking as the last. 

“I won’t look nearly as lovely as you do in any of those dresses,” Anne offered quietly. 

“No, you won’t,” Christine agreed. Anne’s lips snapped shut. She paused a moment before venturing out again.

“You know, Miss Stuart-” 

She didn’t have a chance to finish because Christine had yanked a dress off the rack and spun around, holding it out to Anne. It was a gown of raven black velvet with a modest bit of beaded detail around the high collar. 

“It’s positively lovely, just as lovely as the others,” Anne began slowly. “But I think I’d much rather wear what I’ve brought.” 

Christine still held out the dress, and Anne wondered if she ought to accept out of politeness.

“It’s just that I would hate to wear a _mourning gown_ and disrespect the person it was meant to honor. If people asked who I lost, I’m afraid I wouldn’t have an answer. I’m blessed enough to have no one to mourn," Anne continued.

“But you do have something to mourn,” Christine said. 

“I do?” 

What Christine said next, she stated with such a matter-of-fact air that Anne was frozen in place: “Gilbert’s good prospects.” 

Anne had lived through a thousand different types of ridicules, and even more harsher verbal attacks. But this...This was so calculated, and _petty_ that Anne’s surprise drowned out the growing flame of anger at being ridiculed. In fact, the silence in which a triumphant Christine was smirking was broken by Anne’s roar of laughter. 

Christine doubled back, but Anne laughed on. 

“Because of… _me?_ ...Gilbert’s _prospe-”_ Anne tried to speak through her hilarity, but another wave would come on. Christine was positively horrified. Of all the ways she had expected Anne to react, this was not one of them. But Anne feared if she stopped, there’d be no preventing whatever real reaction she was holding back to such viciousness.

Anne was still laughing when Ron poked his head through the door. His eyes moved from the black dress in Christine’s hand to Anne wiping tears from her eyes. Be it the connection between siblings or Ron’s own cleverness, but horror dawned on his face. He looked over his shoulder before coming in and closing the door behind him.

“ _Christine!”_ Ron scolded on a sharp hiss. “Of all your dresses, why is _this_ is the one you-”

“Oh, Ron, it’s alright,” Anne interrupted, her voice finally even. “She’s not serious.”

“I am!” Christine spat venomously. She spun around to face Anne, whose smile drained away at Christine’s brutal loathing. The inky haired woman continued, stepping closer to Anne. “What did you expect? You’re a _child_ from the blemish of society pretending to be a high society woman and you want me to _help_ you?” 

Anne stuttered, helplessly looking for a way to stop her, but finding no words. Christine trudged on. 

“You’re going to make a country hick out of Gilbert. You’ll take the person who could be the best doctor in Canada and bring him back with you to tumble around in the mud for sport. What’s worse is he doesn’t even realize it because he’s such a bumbling fool, happily shoveling every bit of his promise into a grave, and it’s entirely you’re doing. You’ve made him a simpleton.”

Anne’s mind broke away from all its restraints. Christine had doused gasoline on her rage, and if she wanted to see Anne burn, so be it. Ron watched in horror as Anne took another step into Christine’s space.

“I won’t stop you, Christine. Say what you want to me. Give me every insult you can sneer between your teeth, and make every petty move under the guise of propriety you want. It’s nothing I haven’t heard before, believe me.” Anne clenched her jaw and her stormy gray eyes flashed lightning, making Christine stiffen her back. “But don’t you _dare_ speak of Gilbert that way again.”

“Come on, Anne, let’s just go,” Ron called from the doorway. She ignored him, and eventually, he turned around and closed the door behind him. Alone with Christine, Anne liberated hersel to speak her mind.

“Miss Stuart, I know you’re in love with Gilbert and that fact in and of itself didn’t make me jealous or worried. I know unrequited love well and I wouldn’t wish that type of heartache on my worst enemy, much less you.” Losing her control, she snagged the black dress from Christine’s hands and tossed it on the bed. “But I know a thing or two more about the world than you think. This viciousness is going to get you nowhere fast. You think Gilbert is going nowhere in life, but he’s going _everywhere._ And I intend to go with him, wherever that is.”

“You say you’re not worried, but you should be,” Christine replied. “You really should be. He’s here in Toronto and you’re on another island. Even if it’s not me, someone is bound to steal him away eventually.” 

“If you think that’s how love works, then _you’re_ the simpleton.” Anne hummed low and serious. “But I don’t think you are, and I’m not either. I may look like I’m worth nothing in your eyes, but I know my mind is rich and my heart is kind and strong. And it _loves_ Gilbert. So you can give it all you’ve got and waste your time, Christine. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Anne’s gaze fell to the mourning dress she’d thrown onto the bed. “The fact that you even needed one of these makes my heart hurt for you,” Anne commented. “It’s so finely made. I’m sure it honored whomever it was made for. But _you,_ Miss Stuart...this behavior? It doesn’t even honor yourself.” 

Christine was red and quiet. 

“I’m not...” she began finally, but then shook her head. The crease between Anne softened as she watched a battle rage in Christine - the same one she’d once watched in Josie Pye.

“No, please, go ahead,” Anne encouraged softly. Christine ran her fingers down an emerald green gown, avoiding Anne’s gaze. Whatever she was about to say had been locked up deep in the catacombs of her truth, and Anne wondered if she’d ever manage to unlock it, if it was even worth trying. 

Then, as if she’d said nothing at all, Christine spun back to the wardrobe and grabbed one of the gowns that Anne had been drawn to from the moment she’d seen it. Christine saw Anne’s uneasiness and said, “You should wear this tonight.” 

“Are you sure? I really wouldn’t want to-” 

“Wear it. I’ll do your hair and embellishments, as well.” 

“Embellishments…? One minute ago we were fighting and now you want to do my embellishments? I don’t even know what that means.” 

Christine didn’t elaborate. She only pulled a gold colored gown from the wardrobe and began to undo the laces of her day dress. Anne looked down at her own ensemble, its silky emerald fabric and what seemed like a million shimmering jewels embroidered on. The neckline was modest by usual standards but lower than anything Anne had worn before, and the sleeves billowed at her shoulders in an attractive fashion. She stepped into the dress, surprised when Christine came up behind her and began to clasp the buttons at the back. When she was finished, she turned her own back to Anne, where the redhead quietly returned the favor. 

Anne turned to the mirror, her reflection causing a short gasp to escape her lips. She couldn’t remember the last time her own appearance had left her speechless. Not even in her best daydreams could she imagine herself this way.

“I’m not usually a cruel person,” Christine murmured, eyes still locked on her reflection. 

“I believe that,” Anne replied truthfully. “When I was in the depths of despair, so heartbroken that I thought I would never breathe easily again, I was horribly hateful to Gilbert.”

“But the things I’ve said to you, even thought about you...Ron probably thinks I’ve lost my mind.”

“Is that an apology?” They met eyes in the mirror reflection.

“I suppose in a way it is.” 

“Then consider us even.” Christine didn’t look convinced, so Anne shrugged. “Historically, I hold dreadful grudges, but I’m working on that.”

Uncomfortable under Anne’s increasingly compassionate expression, Christine turned to her vanity, where she finished adding the final pearl pins to her dark hair. 

“It’s hard to imagine you heartbroken,” she confessed.

A wound on the surface of Anne’s heart tugged, like the scar was trying to break open, but the dull pain was nothing to her trust in Gilbert. 

“Would you believe me if I told you that just six months ago, Gilbert was courting someone else? Not just that - he was planning to _propose_ to Winifred, move with her to France, and achieve his greatest dream by attend the _Sorbonne_ in Paris?” 

Christine’s frown deepened in disbelief. 

“What happened?” 

“He realized he loved me too much to be with anyone else.” Anne sighed, sitting beside Christine, close enough that her genuineness was palpable, but not so close as to snuff out the fragile understanding between them. “I’m not telling you this to rub salt in what I know is a painful wound. I’m telling you because it would be unfair of me not to tell you that your time is better invested finding someone who would turn down the _Sorbonne_ if it meant being with you. And you’re very beautiful, Christine. You won’t have to look hard.” 

They sat in silence for another few moments as Christine began to run a brush through Anne’s loosened hair. Finally, she wondered, “What was Winifred like?” 

“Astoundingly beautiful - easily just as lovely as you are - and so sweet and refined,” “There was nothing I could fault her for. She just wouldn’t give me reason to dislike her, much to my frustration. I almost hated her for being so perfect.” 

“I know the feeling,” Christine murmured. Then, a bit lighter, “How did you meet Gilbert?” 

“Oh, I saw him galloping on a chestnut steed between our two houses and I knew immediately that I _must_ marry him, and if I didn’t, I would certainly perish of consumption within the year.” 

Christine stopped brushing. “...Really?” 

“No, of course not, though can you _imagine?_ ” Anne laughed. “Gilbert saw me getting picked on in the woods shortly after I arrived in Avonlea and diffused the situation. After that, I refused to speak with him and eventually broke my slate over his head.”

“Now you’re just playing around.” 

“It’s the truth! Ask him, he’ll tell you. I did leave out the part when he tugged my braid and called me carrots, but it’s so unpleasant to think about. Truly, little boys have the most barbaric behavior.” 

“Then how did you fall in love? _When?_ ”

Anne shrugged. “I think the whole time, something in the depths of my soul - the part that knows the way of things - had been nudging me for years saying ‘ _Anne! What are you hiding from? Let him_ see _you! Open your eyes and see_ him!’ One day it yelled and I listened. I began to see how kind and admirable he is. He was all I wanted to watch and learn about.” She paused. “I’m sorry, this is probably incredibly unpleasant.” 

“Only a little,” was Christine’s answer. “I want to know...in case it ever happens to me, that is.” 

Meeting Christine’s eyes through the reflection in the vanity mirror, Anne smiled. 

“It will,” she promised. “Besides, I’ve learned that nice young men have equally nice friends. Have you considered Fred Wright?” 

“Fred’s not _nearly_ as handsome as Gilbert,” chuckled Christine. 

Anne let out an overly dramatic sigh of resignation. “Alas, no one is.” 

Somehow, _strangely and unbelievably_ Anne’s mind corrected, they managed to pass the next bit of time in easy company with one another. Anne could still see the lingering traces of heartache in Christine’s eyes whenever they met hers, but the icy wall between them had melted enough that they could speak like friendly acquaintances. Their bitter fight, which had raged like a wildfire and scalded the wallpaper, seemed like ages ago. Much to Anne’s relief, Christine had Ron’s sense of humor - a bit dry, but quick to wit. The interaction was a peace offering - Christine offering Anne a bit of rouging on her cheeks and lips (“These _are embellishments, Anne”_ Christine had informed her, darkening her auburn lashes), Anne offering embarrassing stories she’d known about Gilbert.

“His brother says his singing was so earsplitting that they made him clean the latrines!” 

Christine bit back an amused smile, spraying some perfume over Anne’s hair. 

“He likes to sing on his way to class, did you know?” 

“No! I have to tell Bash immediately. Where’s the nearest telegram office?” The laughter on her lips died out as Christine finished her handiwork and stood back so Anne could see her reflection. 

“How’s that for your Princess Veronica?” Christine said, a hesitant, but pleased smile on her lips. 

“Cordelia,” Anne corrected on a murmur. “I think there’s a very unloved, very homely eleven-year-old orphan out there who will be so happy she lived to today.” She turned to Christine, unable to help a toothy grin from brightening her face. “Thank you, truly.”

It seemed that was the final piece for Christine - the part of the story that she hadn’t asked for, but the part that made her able to look upon Anne’s face without feeling sick with bitterness. All at once, Christine realized she’d been dreadfully wrong in her initial judgements of Anne. She wondered that she hadn’t seen the truth of it right away.

“I didn’t mean those things I said,” she said softly. “Well, I _did,_ but I don’t anymore.”

Anne wanted to say _something_ , to apologize for appearing out of the blue and for being the source of Christine’s failed hopes, but she struggled for the right way to articulate it. Before she could, Christine had taken off, leaving Anne alone to wonder how much time had passed - an hour, a day? 

As she made her way down the stairs, she heard Gilbert debating with Ron about something - the philosophical meaning of healing - to pass the time near the front door. Ron saw her first, giving Gilbert a knowing glance and a nod towards the steps. 

For all her imaginings about Princess Cordelia, Anne decided the moment Gilbert settled his molten gaze on her that she didn’t mind being the Anne Shirley-Cuthbert to his Gilbert Blythe. His gaze held multitudes - dreams, submissions, prayers. Each of them were wordless and inexpressible, each only for her. As if by instinct, he reached out a hand to help her off the last stair, though they both knew she didn’t need it, and used the opportunity to pull her close enough that he could smell her perfume.

“If you’re all ready to go, Chris and I ought to go say goodbye to our father,” Ron said. 

Gilbert didn’t watch them go, he couldn’t look anywhere except on Anne’s freckled neckline and rosy cheeks, but he knew the second they’d disappeared into the other room. 

Before she could tease him for his speechlessness, he tangled their fingers together and said in a soft tone, “You’re beautiful, Anne.” It made her want to drag his face into the nape of her throat so that he could compliment how sweet she smelled, how soft her skin was. Though she suspected Gilbert wouldn’t object in the least, they were far from romance heroes who had no sense of decorum, and if she wanted to engage in chancy embraces with him, she’d have to wait until after the banquet. 

For now, she settled on a small kiss against his lips and a wink. 

“What can I say, Christine works miracles.” 

Soon, Ron and Christine had joined them in the front entryway. Much to Anne’s surprise, she found herself being shuffled alongside Gilbert to the family carriage. Ron and Christine sat across from them as if they’d done it a hundred times over. Peering out the curtained window, Anne watched the neighbor pass along. 

“You know, Gil,” Anne began, letting her thumb graze over his knuckles. “I doubt we’ll ever be terribly rich in wealth, and I don’t mind a mite. But to be sincere, I also haven’t minded trying it out for a day.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For this chapter specifically, I hope that I was able to take your mind off of the crazy events of this week. For me, it's been a test of keeping my anxiety in check and taking care of myself and my friends. I've relied heavily on the wonderful fics of this fandom to help me through it (especially my friends Irina and JackSparrow, I'm looking at you!!) It's my hope I was able to pay that forward to you all, even with the low-key drama of this chapter. As for you all, please take care of yourselves stay healthy!
> 
> As always, if you wanna chat (or you wanna take your mind off of things) I'm on tumblr ~ @royalcordelia! ♥
> 
> (ps - my course load has lessened, so expect speedier updates!)


	8. (1.08) Say that You'll Hold Me Forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anne and Gilbert have a jam-packed evening at the banquet!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time no see everyone! As of today, I'm very nearly done with my bachelor's. The only thing I have left to due is finish my thesis (which of course is about Anne of Green Gables and Anne with an E). This time next week, pop over to my blog if you want to check it out! <33 
> 
> ALSO! As of when I'm posting this, this story has 992 kudos, which is INSANE! I've been writing fanfic since I was 12, and I've always had a small dream of having a story with 1,000 likes/kudos, so I'm just counting that dream as met! I just want to give a very warm thank you to everyone who has left feedback and enjoyed this story! I really appreciate all your kind words and love. This really is the best fandom, you all in particular are beautiful people! 
> 
> (The song used in this chapter is "Bold Jamie" by Cara Dillon!)

All those months ago, Gilbert hadn’t been lying when he’d told Bash that Winnie was easy to be around, but being around her parents had been an entirely different story. With perfect vividness, he remembered nights after dinners with the Roses that he’d trudged back to Avonlea, more tired than he’d ever been in his life. None of the studying in the world, not even the endless weeks of Delly crying in the middle of the night, could compare to the exhaustion of entertaining people socially higher than you and not crumbling under their expectations. 

But tonight, ascending the marble steps of the Meryton Hotel with Anne on his arm, Gilbert realized that would be exactly what she’d be facing tonight. People would ask her about her country upbringing (“ _You’re surprisingly elegant for an islander” )_ and her family (“ _It’s most peculiar to have_ two _last names, Miss Shirley-Cuthbert”)._ He knew because he’d spent his first months answering uncomfortable questions of his own. The only difference was that Anne wouldn’t be doing it for _herself,_ but for him. 

He stopped mid-step on the grand staircase. 

It wasn’t too late to turn around and go home. _Or_ to a concert, a nice one where the seats were made of velvet and they’d be able to feel the orchestra’s music inside their chests. Somewhere they could enjoy each other’s company, somewhere they wouldn’t have to be put on display. 

If he was being entirely honest with himself, as oftentimes he wasn’t, maybe he was a bit more nervous for himself. _Of course,_ people would like Anne - lately she had developed a mastery of first impressions. Her own confidence and compassion enchanted everyone she met, but somehow Gilbert wasn’t so sure about himself. Sure, in Avonlea, it was easy to believe he was intelligent, a meaningful contributor to society—everyone knew him there. But _here_ where society was so much bigger, so far out of reach, would he measure up?

“Gil?” Anne called quietly. “There’s nothing to be worried about. They’re going to love you.” 

The light within the hotel was so bright that it turned Anne’s eyes bright blue as it flooded out the open doors. She peered up at him with increasing concern the more he stayed frozen staring at him. 

“Do you feel sick?” she continued, uncertain.

Gilbert only lifted her hand to his lips, kissing the back of her palm for a long second before pulling her to keep moving with him. In front of them, Ron and Christine were crossing the threshold into the grand entrance. The younger, much lovelier, of the Stuarts watched Gilbert with a strange expression on her face that he wasn’t sure how to interpret. When she caught his glance, she spun around and glided faster past Ron. 

“You’re not usually a man of silence,” Anne commented. 

“Maybe having a creature of such astonishing beauty beside me renders me speechless,” Gilbert replied slyly, causing a pretty rose blush to rise on Anne’s cheeks. 

Anne knew him better than that. “And?” 

“ _And_ my thoughts are preoccupied, too,” he admitted. 

“On what?” 

Gilbert turned to her, catching a trace of her sweet perfume. 

“Is this truly a good use of our time together? I barely get to see you anymore.” 

“ _Gilbert-”_

“Ron and Christine won’t miss us if we disappear. I want to hear more about you, and Queens, and Avonlea. I want to spend our last evening together in _your_ company and not trying to impress a bunch of big-wigs at my school. Let’s go somewhere, let’s have fun!” 

“I’ve already told you about all that, _twice_ , and we have had fun!” Anne replied laughing. “Gilbert, we have our entire lives to go out and explore every inch of the world together. But tonight...tonight is for you to take your next steps toward a bright, magnificent life of helping people.” 

How could he refuse her when her voice was so glorious with hope and pride? Heaving a deep breath to calm his nerves, they made their way into the hotel. 

An awed gasp left Anne’s lips as they took in the brilliance of the party. The ceilings lorded high in the air, supported by corinthian pillars and edged by an ornate marble trim. A small quintet comprised of strings and a grand piano played their opulent songs and the harmonies filled the space high into the flickering chandeliers. 

Gilbert glanced down at Anne, whose grin was the reflection of all the breathless thoughts running through her head. 

“It’s _amazing_ ,” she said simply. They made their way through the crowd of Gilbert’s classmates and distinguished guests, smiling politely at those they passed. 

“I’m glad I get to spend this night with you,” Gilbert commented lowly. “After this, you’ll want to leave me for sunbursts and marble halls.” 

“Don’t be silly, I just want _you_ ,” Anne replied, nudging his side with her elbow. The statement, which had seemed obvious to her, sent a thrill through Gilbert, and instead of encouraging him, was only successful in brightening his eyes with desire. He dove down for a kiss, but she ducked away, nodding to the gathering of dignified guests congregated in front of them. “Are you ready to forge your connections, Mr. Blythe?” 

Just like that, all the wind was knocked right out of him. Was he ready? Absolutely not. He had to make good impressions and connections. He had to be memorable for the sake of his future, for Anne. He _had_ to. His thoughts were spiraling out of control when a voice interrupted their uncontrollable descent. 

“Ah! Gilbert!” 

The pair turned to find an older gentleman reaching out his hand to Gilbert, another fellow trailing behind him. 

“Dr. Joselin, a pleasure,” Gilbert said politely, catching his professor’s hand and giving it a stiff shake. 

“You country fellows can clean up well, after all,” Dr. Joselin teased, only to be rewarded by a stiff chuckle from Gilbert. “And I see you’ve found yourself a city girl.” Anne nearly pressed her lips together against her correction that _To your disappointment, sir, you’ll find that I am completely and utterly nature’s child,_ and smiled as sweetly as she could. 

“How are you this evening, sir?” she asked.

“Oh, very well, my dear, very well. I just hoped I could steal a moment of Gilbert’s time so that he could share his stance against phrenology with my colleague. He’s trying to get a full opinion, you see.”

“Of course,” Gilbert agreed evenly. 

“I’ll go get us something to drink,” Anne cut in. 

There was something very unlike Gilbert in the way that he walked away, stiff and uncomfortable. She watched him for a few moments before turning over her shoulder to find a waiter. When she returned, two crystal glasses in hand, she found him alone and a bit gray. 

“How was it?” Anne asked, handing him his share of the wine. The dejected man in front of her sighed. 

“I must’ve said something he disagreed with. He interrupted me right in the middle of me telling him about phrenology’s recognition as a pseudoscience, and made a comment about finding engagement somewhere else,” he murmured, almost as if he were afraid someone around him might hear. “Dr. Joselin looked so embarrassed.” 

“Oh, darling, I’m sure it wasn’t you. He seemed like an odd sort of man.” Anne ran her hand down his arm comfortingly, but her touch did little to soothe his troubled eyes. “Better you know so you don’t waste your time on him.” Just then, she caught sight of a familiar face across the room. “Here’s a man I know has good taste!” 

Gilbert followed as Anne lead the way, weaving in and out of people until finally she said, “Dr. Sullivan!” 

The tall man was amongst his peers, though they were standing silently, taking in the splendor of the party. Upon hearing his name, Dr. Sullivan lifted an amused brow with a small smile to match. 

“Ah, come to finally convince me to invest in more suitable literature, Miss Shirley-Cuthbert?” Dr. Sullivan said lightly. 

“Not quite. I was hoping to introduce you to my beau so you could help _him_ invest in suitable literature.” 

Dr. Sullivan spared a glance at Gilbert, waiting for the young man to speak up, but was met with silence. Anne squeezed his arm and glanced at him. The message took a second too longer to register, and when it did, Gilbert was stammering, “Oh! Uh, Gilbert Blythe, sir.” 

The lines of Gilbert’s shoulders were straight and tense. He shoved a stiff hand out, somewhat ungracefully, and gave Dr. Sullivan a brisk handshake. Sullivan’s colleagues exchanged a look that Anne hoped escaped Gilbert’s notice. 

“How are you finding your studies, Mr. Blythe? It must be hard to be so far away from home,” Sullivan asked. 

“My studies are going well,” Gilbert answered. Anne’s brows furrowed at his vapid, flat tone. “I’m fortunate enough not to suffer any homesickness. I’m solely focused on my coursework, and only that.” 

“You have no diversions for pleasure outside of school?” Dr. Sullivan wondered. 

“None whatsoever,” Gilbert replied almost too quickly. From where Anne was standing, she could feel the situation slowly spiralling out of control. 

“I hear you’re a medical student. What special topics capture your attention, then?” 

Anne smiled in pride, knowing that Gilbert had such an interesting answer to this question. She had letters full of his thoughts about upcoming vaccines and mind-boggling breakthroughs in pathology. His knowledge was nearly comprehensive, so it was to Anne’s utter dismay when his reply was an almost uninterested, “I like all topics, sir.” 

Dr. Sullivan nodded politely, but his eyes revealed he was unimpressed with what he saw. A man at his side leaned to mutter something in his ear, and he turned back to Anne. 

“It’s about time we find our seats at the table. Good evening, Miss Shirley-Cuthbert.”

And then they were gone, leaving Gilbert staring at the floor with a disheartened dullness in his eyes. Anne’s hand moved over his back, rubbing a warm circle, but he shirked away. 

“Gil, it’s not so bad-” 

“Let’s go home,” Gilbert interrupted. Anne’s face dropped, and he rubbed the heels of his hands over his eyes. “I know you got all dressed up, but I’d rather leave before I make a fool out of myself. _Again._ Seems to be a trend lately.” 

“If that’s what you want,” was Anne’s dispirited reply. “But I don’t have to be a medical student to diagnose the situation.”

“That I’m in over my head with these people?” 

“ _No!_ Just the opposite!” Anne surged forward, grabbing his hands and squeezing tightly. “The people here are drawn together not because they want to prove they’re the most driven or because they want to show off how smart they are. They’re here because they’re alike in their _passion_. You have that passion, too. Right here.” She patted his chest. “But you’re keeping it locked up. You’re putting on a stale, disinterested version of yourself that isn’t real because you think it’ll make them like you more. It’s having the opposite effect, darling.” 

“I thought I was being professional,” he admitted.

“You’ve already got that mastered without trying to fake it. Just be yourself, love, and I _promise_ the night will go better.” 

“I don’t know, Anne…” 

She placed a hand on his cheek, and he kissed it, eyes melancholy.

“Gilbert, you are the most intelligent, brave, refreshing, stimulating, exceptional, impressive-” 

“ _Anne._ ”

“- _amazing_ person I know, and I am _so_ proud of you.” She poked his nose and took a step back. “I just don’t want you to give up so soon. Give it one more go, and if you really aren’t having a nice time, we’ll go. Alright?”

Gilbert swayed forward, like he wanted to kiss her but thought better of it. Instead, he only gave a small smile and nodded. “Alright.” 

They ambled throughout the room, pausing periodically to greet upperclassmen Gilbert was acquainted with. One after another, each interaction just got better and better. Anne observed it all with a prideful swell in heart, offering a few thoughts of her own here and there, much to Gilbert’s delight. The approval of his peers seemed to stoke up the fire of excitement in his eyes. A short time later, all the pretense that he’d managed to fabricate had dissipated, leaving behind the real genuine Gilbert Blythe in its wake. 

Anne bit back her grin as Gilbert all but strutted across the floor in his newfound confidence. As they drew nearer to Dr. Joselin, Anne tried to steer Gilbert away, not wanting to ruin his improved disposition, but his ears had already twitched to the conversation, and he approached it without hesitation. 

“Dr. Joselin, is this talk of that Montreal trial on _aphthous stomatitis?_ ” he interjected with ease. 

“Ah, Mr. Blythe, just the lad I was hoping to run into.” To Anne’s surprise, this response was not accompanied by any evident insincerity. 

Another one of the students seized Gilbert’s hand, shaking it with vigor. Without a spare look at Anne, the young man grinned eagerly and said, “Gilbert, Dr. Joselin was just sharing your review on that study. Do you really suppose the results could have been invalid?”

“It’s a strong claim, I know, but with such a small population size, the results can hardly be generalized to the Canadian public. Had they interviewed the participants on their eating habits, their sexual behavior, even their home environments, I’d be more inclined to trust the validity of the results. The list of confounds was infinite, yet the clinicians acknowledged none!” The deeper Gilbert dove into dismantling the study, the less Anne comprehended of the conversation. But when it was over, there was a rosy flush of pride lighting underneath his scarce freckles and a delight that Anne hadn’t seen in his eyes the whole night. 

As they walked away, Anne pressed herself onto her toes and leaned toward his ear. He bent it to her as she asked, “What in heaven’s name is aphtho...alphath…”

“ _Aphthous stomatitis,_ ” Gilbert corrected sweetly. “It’s the medical term for a sore on your lip.” 

Anne hummed in understanding. “And would you diagnose me with _aphthous stomatitis,_ Dr. Blythe?” 

His ochre eyes drifted down to her lips. With a shuddering breath, he licked his own before he could stop himself. 

“No, I think your diagnosis is not sores, but an irresistible sweetness.” To prove his point, he placed a hasty kiss on the corner of her lips. Anne wondered if he could feel the heat emanating off of her cheeks at his coy attentions, and nudged him away playfully. When Gilbert pulled back, his gaze met something across the room that made his jaw tighten. Without preamble, he declared, “I have to apologize to Dr. Sullivan.” 

It was because Anne said “Yes, I believe you must” that Gilbert felt even more sure he had chosen - as she would say - the right lifemate. Anyone else would’ve told him, _No, Gilbert, he’s probably already forgotten._ But Anne understood what had to be done if he was to remember this night with any sort of satisfaction or pride.

Across the room, Ron was wiggling his eyebrows at her, gesturing her over with a short wave of his hand. Anne sighed dramatically. “It appears I’m likely being summoned, likely for discussions of philosophy.” She paused, shaking his fingers in her own, before saying, “I’ll be cheering for you.”

Then she was disappearing into the crowd, the red of her hair blending with the raining candlelight. 

*

Dr. Sullivan sat by himself against the wall like a moth who has shunned its lifelong work of chasing the moon, contrary to his earlier remark that he was departing for the dinner table. His even eyes observed the dance floor with a light interest, but the content of his thoughts was miles away. It was only when two shiny shoes appeared in his view just before him that he lifted his head up and met eyes with Gilbert. The boy’s shoulders were looser and the stern stiffness of his brow was missing. Dr. Sullivan did not have to be a PhD to surmise the cause of the change. 

“Rejoined the world of the living?” the older man asked casually. Gilbert laughed on a somewhat embittered scoff, and settled into the seat next to the broad shouldered professor. “No doubt you have your young lady to thank.” 

“No doubt I do. She sees everything with her own eyes, and no one else’s. I admire her unique perspective of the world, and am thankful when it helps me see things differently.” Sullivan made a sound of agreement in the back of his throat. Clenching his fists to ground his thoughts, Gilbert continued. “I don’t pretend to be as fetching or as interesting as Anne, but I’m not the tasteless person you saw earlier who completely lacked a backbone.”

“I’m aware,” Dr. Sullivan admitted. “That is the test of events like these. Do you come merely assimilate and try to mirror what you _think_ you’re observing around you? Or do you rise to the occasion and add yourself into the discord without compromising your own integrity? It’s sink or swim, Mr. Blythe, yet I think you’re doing just fine. I knew you must be a fine student as soon as Emily Oak said so.” 

“I’m glad you think so, sir.” 

There was a moment passed in silence where Gilbert could not fathom whether or not Dr. Sullivan’s thoughts had moved on, or if he was quietly altering his judgments. He almost jumped when the man finally spoke. 

“Favorite poet, Gilbert?” 

Without hesitation, “Whitman.” 

For the first time that Gilbert had seen, Sullivan’s smile stretched across his entire face and he nodded approvingly. 

“Ah, and there lies the rub. ‘ _Henceforth, I ask not good fortune, I myself am good fortune_.’ Adequate on nights like these, no?” 

At first, Gilbert didn’t know what he meant, but as they settled into a comfortable discussion about the sacrilegious themes in “Song of Myself,” Sullivan’s meaning settled over him. Had he spent the party with a rake up his backside and listlessly trying to engage his peers, he’d have asked for good fortune, yet found no return. _I myself am good fortune_ , Gilbert repeated in his head. What it meant tonight was _I am enough._ He’d lost sight of it, but now that it was regained, the vastness of the future didn’t seem so daunting. 

Many minutes later, Gilbert skimmed the room for Anne’s red hair or Ron’s lofty head, but the search was fruitless. Not even Christine was anywhere to be found.

“I apologize, sir. I’m supposed to be escorting Anne this evening, yet I’ve done a poor job of it. I should go find her.” 

“Very well,” agreed Dr. Sullivan. “You should know, Mr. Blythe, that just because I’m an English professor doesn’t mean my office door is closed to medical students. Should you need someone to talk to as you rage through your freshman year, please don’t hesitate to stop by.” 

“I appreciate that, sir. Thank you!” Gilbert replied sincerely. He nodded once, then left Dr. Sullivan to his quiet solitude. Yet, even as he departed, he could still hear the professor’s lyrical thoughts emanating from the corner - _“To drive free, to love free, to court destruction with taunts. One brief house of madness and joy!”_

*

When Anne snuck a peek over her shoulder at Gilbert and Dr. Sullivan, she found easy smiles on both their faces and a tender bloom of pride blossomed in her chest. The more Anne became acquainted with Gilbert’s heart, the more she could see its warmth emanating around him like a constant crown. Not all the gentlemen in the room could claim having such a vast soul, one that had the capacity to love and learn with such brilliance. Perhaps the almighty had been up to something after all when he tied her to Gilbert. 

She let a lovesick smile dimple her cheeks, when suddenly her hands were seized. Ron was before her squeezing her fingers in his with a mischievous look in his eyes. 

“It’s time,” was all he said. Fred was at his side, a wooden instrument case wrapped under his arm, and he shared Ron’s conspiratorial smile. 

“Time for what?”

“Remember that tradition I was telling you about? The one in the basement?”

“Yes…” Anne replied, interest piqued.

“The festivities are about to begin, and I wanted to know if you’d like to join us.”

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly!” Anne replied immediately. “I came to support Gilbert, and I know if I say I want to go to this party, he’ll just end up following.” 

“He can come,” Ron added in.

“He’s supposed to be making connections.” She squeezed Ron’s fingers before dropping his hand. “You all go and have fun. I’m having a splendid time where I am. Promise!” 

Ron pursed his lips, his shoulders slumping down in dramatic disappointment.

“As you wish, Miss Shirley-Cuthbert. I’ll come find you before the end of the night so we all can walk home together.” 

When Ron and Fred were gone, Anne scanned the room, wondering if she’d find some long lost friend in the sea of faces and finery. Gilbert was gesturing in circles in front of him, explaining something with a fierce conviction. She wondered if she ought to go and silently impose herself at his side, but hated the idea of interrupting him unnecessarily. Then her eyes fell on Christine. 

Just one look at Christine told Anne that underneath her silken black hair and throat of jewels, Christine was decidedly _not_ having a good time. Her lips were downturned in a bitter frown, and a line crinkled between her brows. There were a few fellows beside her who seemed to be rambling on about this or that, nothing which amused Christine. Another young man joined the small circle, and when he lingered a kiss on her knuckles, the color drained from her face. 

Before Anne knew what she was doing, she was marching up to Christine, mind set and hands clasped at her side. 

“Miss Stuart, I’ve been looking for you everywhere!” Anne announced. The taller gentlemen jumped at the intrusion, grumbling when they were forced to back up and make room for her. “There’s something you must see. Come now.” 

“We were talking!” a fellow objected as Anne snuck her arm into Christine’s and tugged her away.

“Excellent understanding of the past tense, sir!” 

Christine was stiff beside her until they were out of sight, upon which she let out a heavy sigh of relief. 

“Some of those gentlemen seemed to think _I_ was on the menu,” she admitted. “I was relying on Fred to fend them off, but he disappeared.” 

“He ran off with your brother to the party in the basement.” Anne replied.

“He’s supposed to be my escort,” Christine said bitterly. “It’s not like I wanted to come with him in the first place.” 

_Gilbert was supposed to take me -_ Christine didn’t have to say it but Anne still heard it. She wondered if Christine agreed to still attend the event in order to save face, hoping that Gilbert wouldn’t notice the real reason she wanted to stay home. Still, no matter her reasons for coming, it didn’t warrant being abandoned by her escort. 

“Well, we ought to go tell him so,” Anne decided fiercely. 

“Absolutely not.” 

“Okay, maybe not. Fred’s sensitive. But you should still have a good time tonight, regardless of your escort’s presence. How about I take you down to the party? There’s supposed to be music, dancing, drinks. We can get you situated, and then I’ll come back up and find Gilbert.” 

“It’s for the servants. They won’t take kindly to my presence there.” 

Across the room, the gentlemen they’d disposed of seemed to be watching them with hawkish eyes. One brave soul began to trek across the room toward them, dragging a tired groan out of Christine. 

“They won’t even notice you. Don’t you worry,” Anne said hurriedly. She wove their arms back together and rushed down the marble corridor. Christine’s dainty heels clacked against the floor as they hurried, and she nearly fell forward. When Anne reached out and caught her, a sputtered laugh snuck out of Christine’s lips.

“You’re alright?”

“I’ve never _run_ in a gown before!” Christine laughed.

“Neither have I!” Then, remembering the day she’d seen Winifred in Charlottetown corrected, “Okay, I have, but it was only once!”

They followed the harmonics of lively music to a thin doorway leading down to the basement of the hotel. From the top of the stairs, they could hear the roar of laughter, cheering, and chatter. Much to Anne’s surprise, Christine was the first to descend toward it. They came upon a wide room with low ceilings and golden light. It was filled with bright red faces and lined with crates that had been shoved aside to make room for the dancing. 

“My God,” Christine breathed out, though Anne barely heard it over the noise. 

In the front of the room, some of the smaller crates were pushed all together with a large sheet of wood laid on top to form a makeshift stage. Fred was among the musicians fixed on it. He had discarded his jacket on a chair, but was still sweating through his white shirt as his fingers danced over his fiddle at rapid speed. Ron was nearby, stomping his feet to the quick rhythm of the jig. One of his hands was on the knee of the blonde fellow beside him, who returned the touch with an arm around Ron’s shoulder. When he caught sight of his sister and Anne wide-eyed in the corner, Ron shot up to meet them. 

“You brought my sister?” he stammered. 

“Fred left her, what was she supposed to do!?” Anne said, trying her best to be heard over the music and cheering. 

“Think you can handle it, Chris?” Ron answered, uncertain.

“Better than you expect, I think.” 

“And the two of you..?” 

“Have sorted out our differences,” Anne said evenly. She knocked his shoulder with a light tap of her knuckles. “How much longer do you intend to herd us in the doorway?” 

Ron’s brows shot up. 

“Come on in,” he chuckled. Christine nodded primly as she strode past him. She’d only taken a few steps when a short girl with ear length hair burst from the center of dancing bodies and latched hold of Christine’s hand. Christine turned back to Anne, a look of panic on her face. 

“It’s alright! Go dance!” Anne encouraged. It only took one sheepish smile for the girl to spin Christine around, and they disappeared into the crowd. 

“Come Anne, there’s someone I want you to meet,” Ron said lowly. He led her through the only clear path in the room to a raggety table. The man he’d been sitting with before looked up at her through long blonde lashes - easily, without judgment. His features were that of any prince in the Grimm fairy tales, so startlingly beautiful that Anne felt a blush rise to her cheeks. “This is Adam...my uh, well, you know. Adam this is my roommate’s sweetheart from PEI.” 

Adam’s smile was small and relaxed. He shook Anne’s hand with geniality but said nothing. 

“A pleasure to meet you. Ron speaks of you with such esteem,” sputtered Anne. 

A hint of insecurity rose within her the same way it might if she met George Eliot or Jane Austen. Would he think her simple and foolish, a sixteen-year-old girl here to drink and dance with adults? But the kindness in Adam’s eyes suggested otherwise. Finally he said, “Thank you.” But Anne got the impression that he was thanking her for more than just the polite compliment. She smiled in return, contagious and sweet. 

“It’s been so lovely to drop by, but I really did want to save Christine from those awful vultures-for-men. I ought to go find Gilbert. Dinner will be starting soon.” 

“Stay for a song,” Adam suggested. Anne hesitated, finding no help in Ron’s eager face. 

“ _One_ song. I won’t leave Gilbert alone upstairs.” 

That was enough to satisfy Ron, who tugged another crate for Anne to sit on. She settled down beside him, and found herself immediately enraptured by the sight before her. The band played fast paced folk tunes that kept the hearts of the dancers racing, but each jig and reel only powered the dancers through each measure with energy. It was a mess of wild hair, rolled up sleeves, rosy cheeks, and somehow, it was one of the most beautiful things Anne had ever seen. Dances like the “Dashing White Sergeant” may have their benefit with the right partner, but this... _this_ was self-expression and freedom. Without knowing it, Anne had begun to sing along to the familiar tune. 

“You sing too?” Ron asked incredulously. The song stopped abruptly in her throat.

“Not really. My best friend back home is the real musician. I just love a good song,” Anne replied sheepishly. 

“Your voice is beautiful,” Adam added. “You should go up and sing something. I know the band was disappointed they couldn’t find a singer for tonight.” 

“I doubt I would know any of their songs!” Anne objected.

“You knew this one.” 

She squirmed in her seat, hoping Gilbert would appear in the door and save her. 

“It’s so kind of you to suggest it, but really—”

It was too late. Ron had taken Anne by the arm and tugged her in front of the stage. 

“This young lady is a singer.” 

The banjo player peered down at Anne with obvious musical interest. 

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” he said. 

Anne spared a desperate glance at Fred, who merely let out a hearty guffaw and helped the banjo player lift her up by her underarms to stand on the stage. Anne stumbled, eyes widening as the dancers watched the scene unfold. 

“It’s alright, Anne. What songs do you know?” Fred muttered in her ear.

“...I’ve been learning Scottish songs. For my heritage. Some Irish ones too. Canadian classics too, I suppose,” she answered quietly. “I really don’t like this, Fred.” 

“Relax. Gilbert says you’re a story-teller.” 

“Well, yes, but—”

Before she could finish, Fred began to string together a melody on the fiddle. The guitar behind her jumped in, strumming a familiar set of chords. Fred lifted a brow at her, an unspoken _You know this one?_ To Anne’s dismay, she nodded and after a moment began to sing.

“‘ _Oh, rise up my darling and come with me_

_I want to go with you and leave this country_

_To leave my father’s dwelling, this house and the land.’_

_So away goes Jamie with his love in his arms.”_

Anne’s instincts had taken over before she could stop them. Every story she’d told in class, to the bird’s in the trees, every song she had sung to the forest air had prepared her to let loose her inhibitions. This was just another story to tell—a man captured by his love’s father, his love desperately trying to plead his innocence in court, a fate doomed from the start. Anne forgot she was singing and dancing on a stage that was seconds away from falling apart. Rather, she was whisked away with the tale, desperately trying to rescue her “Bold Jamie.” 

_“The judge says ‘this young girl being tender in youth_

_If Jamie is guilty she will tell the truth.’_

It was here a familiar face appeared from the stairwell at the back of the room. Gilbert had his hands stuck in his pockets, the way he always did when he wasn’t sure what to do with them. He seemed to search the room for something, before his eyes fell on her, dancing on the stage. Anne laughed as she sang the next lines, a grin turning her face to golden light. He smiled back, shaking his head with surprise.

_Then the radiant beauty before him did stand_

_“‘Oh I'm happy to see you, my bold Irish lad!’”_

Anne was only slightly aware of Gilbert finding his way through the crowd to the front of the stage. His eyes were hazy and lovesick as he watched her move and sing and let strands of hair fall from their pins. Occasionally, she’d flash another small smile down at him, and he’d feel it resonate down to the soles of his feet. As Fred played the last notes of the song, Anne fixed her gaze on her love and was thankful the song had only been a story. Her own bold man was here before her, very much not in jail and very much hers to adore. 

Behind her, another upbeat song filled the air. Anne placed her hands on Gilbert’s shoulders, biting her lip at the ease with which he lowered her back to the ground. They were inches apart, Anne’s chest still heaving from her song. 

“I didn’t mean to leave for so long,” Anne apologized lightly. Gilbert shook his head, brushing a strand of hair away from her sticky face. 

“I’m the one that left you alone. You were right, Dr. Sullivan is a kindred spirit, after all.” Their explanations were cut short when a dancing couple all but crashed into them. They scurried to the wall, the only place where no arms or legs could hit them. Out of public eye, Gilbert bent down and pressed a kiss against Anne’s smiling cheek.

“I didn’t know you sang that well,” he admitted. Anne shrugged.

“It certainly was very fun to try! One minute I was telling Christine to go off and have fun, and the next minute I was being lifted on stage.” 

“I wish I could have seen the whole thing.” His hands found hers and he caressed her skin gently. “Are you hungry? They’re starting dinner.”

Anne laughed and looked around the room. 

“After all this, I could use some sustenance. And some quiet time to hear about your conversation with Dr. Sullivan.” 

After a quick nod to Ron, they were heading back upstairs, the sound behind them turning into a mere mumble in the distance. Anne was glad to breathe some fresh air that didn’t smell of sweat and whisky. Beside her, Gilbert had fixed her with a strange expression, one that was nearly smiling, but also deeply distressed.

“What is it, love?” Anne asked.

“I wish you didn’t have to leave tomorrow.” 

“That’s a whole day away. There’s plenty of time to…” 

Her voice trailed off as she caught sight of something several feet ahead of them. Gilbert traced her gaze to another couple pressed up against the floral-papered wall of the hotel. The silhouette of a woman was pressed beneath that of her lover, who held her flush against him. Perhaps the strange thing which had stolen Anne’s breath was the way the man had his face buried at his lady’s pulse point along the hollow of her neck, luxuriating there for a long moment before slowly moving his way along the skin. Gilbert felt his own face burning. He’d seen kissing before, but not quite like that. Judging from Anne’s reaction, neither had she. 

It looked really… nice. Different, but nice. 

As they passed, Anne rushed into a new conversation, desperately trying to avoid his eyes. _Is she embarrassed?_ he wondered. _Is she scared I’ll kiss her like that?_

Anne on her part was violently trying to keep all thoughts of what she had seen from her head, but found it was difficult to think of anything _but_ that. Her fingers touched her throat, but she tore them away before she could imagine what it would feel like if Gilbert kissed her the way she’d seen. Would he even want to? Her mouth rambled of the strange men she’d fended off from Christine, but Gilbert was smart enough to know her mind was somewhere else. So, for some reason, he said the very first thing that came to his mind. 

“Hey, Anne?” It cut off her thoughts and she snapped her lips shut. 

“Hmm?” 

“I love you.” 

Anne laughed, tugging Gilbert’s arm closer to her chest to nuzzle her head against his shoulder. 

“I’d like to see anyone try to love you as much as I do!” she declared. Anne tried not to think about how this time tomorrow she'd nearly be arrived back home to the Blackmore house. The Sunset House would be a thousand miles away, her soft-hearted man kept safely inside of it, and she would be missing his warmth at her side. For now, she grounded herself in the present moment, ran a finger down his handsome jaw, and tried to prepare herself for what might be the most lavish dinner she’d ever attend.

*

Some time later, their bellies were full of delicious food and the guests of the banquet began to file out. Leaning tiredly onto Gilbert, Anne wondered if this was the first in a very long future of attending events like these. If he became a renowned doctor like he planned to, he’d receive all sorts of invitations to more banquets, conferences, meetings. On one hand, Anne looked forward to it with everything she had in her. On the other hand, Anne was _very_ ready to lay beside her love and get some rest. 

The streets of Toronto at night were mostly lit by shed candlelight from its surrounding streets. Ron was in light spirits as he led the way, a blissful spring in his steps as he hummed “Bold Jamie.” Gilbert had leaned in close to whisper, “He’s a night owl _and_ an alcoholic.” But Anne knew the kiss she’d seen Adam quickly plant on him had something to do with his chipper mood as well. 

She turned her face to the moonlight and felt the crisp night air lay smooth against her cheeks. _Oh, if only nights this wonderful were eternal_ , she thought. _No one in the world could be unhappy then._

They’d long since taken Fred to his boarding house, next planning to bring Christine back home. She was quiet in front of Gilbert and Anne, and had said nothing about her time at the party. When they arrived at the Stuart house, she was the silhouette of Juliette Capulet on a Shakespearean doorstep. Without warning called out, “Actually, Gilbert?” 

Gilbert couldn’t make out Christine’s expression in the darkness. A strangeness had taken over her voice and it was with uncertainty that he replied, “Yes?” 

“Might I speak with you...for a moment? I won’t keep you long.” 

Gilbert’s eyes fell on Anne, who squeezed his hand gently. “I’ll walk slowly with Ron for a bit.” 

He wasn’t able to make it any further up the walkway when Christine began to speak. 

“You’re probably waiting for an apology,” she rushed out. 

“An apology? For what?” Gilbert asked.

“Anne… didn’t tell you?” 

Gilbert stuffed his hands in his pockets at the growing awkwardness radiating off of Christine. Instead of an answer, he shrugged and shook his head. A shadowy cloud crept over the moon, shielding his sight from the embarrassed flush warming Christine’s cheeks. She took a deep breath.

“When you offered to take me to the banquet all those weeks ago, I thought you were doing it because you liked me.” Gilbert’s heart dropped to the pit of his stomach. “And I was _really_...elated, I suppose, because, well…I’ve been in love with you since I first met you.” 

“Christine, you don’t have to say it. Or apologize. I must’ve just assumed you knew about Anne. I should be the one apologizing. It’d never be my intention to hurt you,” Gilbert responded truthfully.

“No, you don’t understand. I _knew_ you were courting _someone_. It just didn’t make a difference until today.” Christine grabbed the handle of her front door, squeezing until her knuckles were white. “I was so jealous of Anne when I met her. Then this afternoon, I said dreadful things to her, things I’m not brave enough to repeat to you. I insulted her in every way I could.” 

Gilbert’s lips drew thin. 

“Oh.”

“She didn’t let me get away with it, of course,” continued Christine. “But she didn’t despise me for it either. Anyone else would have. Her and I talked. I apologized to her, and now I’m apologizing to you.” 

Silence fell between them as he shifted his weight. 

“If Anne forgave you, I’ll have to too,” he said half-heartedly. What else was there to say? The thought of someone being cruel to Anne on his account made his blood boil, but Anne had already won the battle, it was all over with. Yet he felt an increasing distaste for Christine the longer he stood there, so he gave a small nod. “Goodnight, Chris.” 

Anne was not hard to catch up with. Gilbert found her shortly ahead of the Stuart house, humming along to Ron’s off-key tune and touching any flower heads that grew tall along the pathway. She didn’t startle when he appeared beside her, only let out a blissful sigh.

“I love to smell flowers in the dark," she said. "You get hold of their soul then.”

Gilbert let out a sigh of his own as he wrapped an arm around her and leaned his head onto hers. 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” 

Anne smiled knowingly.

“I didn’t think there was anything to tell. Sometimes we have to just return to our natural roots. Like mountain cats, we had it out bitterly and violently, and once it was over, we were...oh, I don’t know, hunting together?” 

“Hunting together?” Gilbert chuckled.

“I cannot be expected to hold a decent metaphor so late in the evening. But you understand what I mean.” Anne hoped it would be enough for him to drop the topic. It wasn’t. 

“What did she say to you?” 

“What good would it do you if you know?” 

“None, I suppose,” he stated unhappily. “She really didn’t hurt your feelings too badly?” 

“Maybe for a moment. But look here, Gilbert.” She took his hand, kissed it, then lifted it up to twirl around underneath it. “I’m a young lady dreadfully in love, exploring a foregin city with the most handsome man I’ve ever seen by my side. I intend to kiss him very soundly when we settle back home, and expect each kiss will be reciprocated ten-fold! Jealous girls can say what they will, I have won the grand prize!”

“You’ve got it all wrong, Anne. You _are_ the grand prize.” 

Anne of a year ago might’ve crinkled her nose at his boldness, and declared that she was not a prize to be won. But the Anne of today knew that Gilbert didn’t have to be reminded of respect, so she nuzzled herself back into his side and began to hum a new tune. 

When they were home, the tune still lingered in the back of Anne’s mind. She sat on the edge of Gilbert’s bed, scanning her eyes along his bare bookshelf to catalog the few books he did bring with him, and braided her hair. Gilbert himself was combing his wild curls in a mirror, or at least was supposed to be—when Anne looked up at him, she found him watching her in the reflection. 

“What are you thinking about?” she asked quietly.

“Truthfully?” 

“Mhmm.” 

“What we saw in the corridor at the hotel.” 

“Really?” she squeaked. 

For some reason, this sent a thrill of delight down Anne’s spine. Off-handedly she thought that Gilbert’s shoulders looked so strong when they weren’t being swallowed by his jacket. 

“I’ve never seen anyone kiss like that before. It seems too…” 

“Intimate?”

“Maybe.” 

They stared at each other nervously, a budding fire of desire tugging at each of their hearts. Then, without being prompted, Gilbert threw his hands up in surrender. 

“It’s just that, you’re _so beautiful,_ you know?” he exploded. “You’re gorgeous, and sitting there with your neck exposed, and the moon is out, and—”

“The moon?” Anne chuckled, face red. “What’s the moon have to do with it?” 

“It just makes you look—” Gilbert let out an exasperated sigh. “And you have no idea.” 

He was right. Anne barely followed what he was talking about. “Alright, then tell me.” 

Gilbert’s own cheeks were growing hot now. 

“I really would like to kiss you like that someday,” he admitted quietly. Anne bit her tongue against a gasp, trying miserably to hide her own hopeful desperation. 

“Someday?” she questioned timidly. “Why not now?” 

It was Gilbert’s turn to squeak. “Now?” 

Anne nodded. 

Her breath was short as Gilbert nervously set down the comb and crept toward her. Without thinking about it, Anne uncrossed her legs and let her arms fall down at her side. Gilbert’s eyes glistened in the low candlelight— half wrought with confidence, half shaking. He sat on the bed beside her, brushing some loose hair away from her hair. Anne wondered if she’d ever get used to feeling so _desired_ by him, as if she really was the grand prize among women. He leaned forward and Anne’s breath caught in anticipation.

Then, he stopped.

“I have no idea what I’m doing,” he admitted almost bitterly. Anne smiled easily, lifting his chin back up to her face. 

“Then why don’t you start with what you know?” 

With that, she captured his lips, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him flush against her. Gilbert’s hands fell to her side and he let out a soft breath. She was soft in just her nightgown, the way women were, the rigid boning of her corset gone for the day. They kissed like that for a few moments, long enough that every ounce of Gilbert’s self-consciousness fell by the wayside. When he was brave enough, he broke off of her mouth and trailed his lips from her cheek down to the underside of her jaw, and eventually her neck.

It was euphoria to the highest degree. Anne shot an arm out to hold herself up, but when Gilbert sucked gently at her collarbone, the arm went limp and they fell backwards. Anne laid flat against the bed, peering up at Gilbert with adoration. Her braid had fallen beside her face, and the sleeve of her nightgown had crept just barely down her arm. For a split moment, he considered helping her up, but then she smiled at him and all that was left was his utter ruination. He bent back down, done with experimenting. Instead, he intended to kiss all of his love into the pulse point of Anne’s throat so that it would seep into her veins and reach all of her. She didn’t stop him when his lips found the borderline of her collar and chest. 

“You have freckles here too,” he muttered blissfully, tasting her sweet skin and inhaling her perfume. 

Without thinking, Anne clutched the fabric of his shirt and said, “I have freckles _everywhere.”_

Gilbert ceased his ministrations, freezing above her. He planted one more kiss to the corner of her lips and laid down at her side. In the silence, he forced himself to think of _anything_ other than all the places Anne could have freckles. Time began to move at real speed again for Anne, who slowly roused to reality. 

“How was that?” she heard him say eventually. Then, sparked with an idea, she propped herself onto her elbow. 

“Would you like to know?” 

His eyes turned wide, and whatever self control he had left evaporated. After he gave a nod of consent, Anne pushed gently on his chest to get him flat on his back. She’d been attuned to every way he’d kissed her, and she replicated it effortlessly. The moment her lips met his skin, he heaved a heavy sigh. His fingers found their way to her hair, and he contemplated undoing his braid and letting her loose auburn locks fall over him. 

“I’ve always liked your chin,” she commented, pressing a kiss to it before moving back to the sensitive part of his collarbone.

“I’ve always liked _you_ ,” he replied breathlessly, desperately. 

“I haven’t _always_ liked you, but I’m warming up to it,” Anne teased. Below her, Gilbert was a moment away from begging for mercy. 

Suddenly, the door swung open and Anne jumped up. Gilbert’s hazy vision made out Ron standing in the doorway, jaw dropped to the floor. He knew they were a sight to behold—messy hair, red cheeks, swollen lips—but he couldn’t find it in him to care. Anne pressed her lips together against a laugh, and helped Gilbert sit up.

“Can we help you?” Gilbert asked, annoyed.

“Gilbert Blythe, you saucy man!” Ron exclaimed, shocked. 

“This from you! You know how many times I’ve heard you sneak girls home like I wouldn’t hear you?”

“That’s me, though. You’re... _you!_ ” 

“Goodnight Ron!” 

“Not so fast there, lover-boy. I came to say goodbye to Anne. I’ll be dead asleep when she leaves for her train.” 

Much to Ron’s delight, Anne jumped out of the bed and gave Ron a tight squeeze. 

“Good luck with Adam,” she whispered. 

Ron shook her around like a rag doll, before letting her free. 

“Come back whenever you’d like. I _mean_ it! This fellow is miserable when he’s homesick.” 

“I will, I will! Thank you for being an excellent host and making a delicious breakfast.” 

“Oh, you’re most welcome. Sorry again about my sister.” Anne shook her head, waving the comment aside. “Well, see you soon, Anne.” 

They were nearly rid of him—at least in Gilbert’s mind—until Ron poked his head through the door one last time.

“Try to maintain _some_ semblance of propriety under my roof, Gilbert.” 

Anne’s laughter followed him until he had shut his own bedroom door behind him. Finally alone, Gilbert turned to Anne and gave her a sad smile.

“We should probably get some sleep. You have a big trip tomorrow,” he said. 

“You hated being kissed that much?” Anne teased, but Gilbert could hear the barest hint of honesty in the question. 

“Quite the opposite. I think any more and I’d be a dead man. Too much happiness is the strongest weapon.” 

Anne chuckled as she crawled underneath the soft blankets. When Gilbert was settled beside her, he leaned over and kissed her cheek one last time. Anne turned to her side toward the window where she looked at the moon making faces down at her. She felt a hand come to her waist, and pulled it all the way across her. That was how she fell asleep, praying that nights could continue forever in the warm embrace of the person she loved most. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Research methods AND folk music AND neck kisses AND bed-sharing in one chapter? You can tell I'm the writer. I hope you all enjoyed it. Hopefully me being done with school means lots more fic for you guys! (Spoiler Alert: I'm working on a LONG oneshot with Anne as a pirate captain, and Gilbert as a deckhand. Stay tuned!) 
> 
> Thank you again for reading. If no one has told you today that you're loved, I LOVE YOU! If you ever want to chat on tumblr, come find me ~@royalcordelia! ♥


	9. (1.09) A Heart That’s Sweet on Finding Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An interlude, the calm before the storm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, everyone!
> 
> I've decided to break this story into sections based off of its major arcs. We'd had a really fluffy arc this time as Anne and Gilbert navigated their new relationship. Expect a bit more...excitement in the coming chapters! Updates should be a bit less erratic now that I have a more solid game plan! 
> 
> Much love to Shale (withlovegilbert) and jacksparrow589 for looking this over and offering their thoughts! I appreciate you both abundantly! ♥

At first, Gilbert thought he was dreaming of feathers—silky feathers trailing down his nose with effervescent softness in long strokes. Once, twice, three times...He scrunched his nose at the tickling sensation, unwilling to move away from whatever warmth he was encased in. The feather smoothed over his brow, trailing down in deliberate slowness to his upturned lips. 

“Gil,” a familiar voice whispered, breaking into his dreamless slumber. “I’m loath to wake you up, but I have to get ready to go.” 

Gilbert’s eyelashes fluttered on his cheeks as he stirred awake. His dopey grin was sunshine in the dawn-less room when he peered down at the young lady sharing his pillow. For a moment, he could forget that just an hour from now Anne would be gone. Her fingers still caressed the apples of his cheeks, lingering for a long moment. When her touch vanished, she tried to push out of Gilbert’s arms, only to be held against his chest. 

“ _Anne_ , it’s four in the morning. Lay with me awhile,” he said, his voice hoarse with sleep. 

“I have to make the five o’clock train,” Anne replied softly. “Thirty minutes to get dressed. Twenty to walk to the station. Leaves me a few minutes to spare to buy my ticket and board.”

“Take a later train,” suggested Gilbert.

“If I don’t arrive home at a decent time, Mrs. Blackmore will think I’ve been killed, or worse, _eloped_. Even then, she believes I’m visiting a female cousin on family matters.” 

“It’s not too late to elope,” he teased, his lopsided grin finding its way to her jaw. His breath was warm against the morning chill, nearly enticing enough to convince Anne to throw caution to the wind and slide back into bed. Instead, she pressed a _good morning_ kiss to his waiting lips and moved in search of her luggage. 

“You should rest a bit longer. I’ll wake you before I leave.” 

“If you think you’re walking by yourself to the station, then you are sorely mistaken,” grumbled Gilbert. He dramatically swung his legs out of bed and grimaced at the cold air. 

“I don’t mind going to the station by myself. You’re probably still exhausted from the party,” Anne argued, but Gilbert heard none of it. 

He grabbed some trousers and a fresh shirt from his dresser, then spoke in a gentle voice, “I’ll wait downstairs for you. Take your time.” 

When he was gone, his essence still lingered about the room in the way it smelled and felt. Lovingly, she caressed the soft surface of his quilts, then the smooth wood of his table and dresser. The mirror hanging on the wall had already collected a few month’s worth of dust, but instead of wiping it away, she drew a heart and labeled her initials with her pinky. There might never come another time she could return to the comfort of this room, and as she crossed the threshold, she gave it one last indulgent look. 

By the time she was presentable, Gilbert had cracked open one of his textbooks, reading it with sleepy eyes. When he heard her footsteps creak down the stairs, he gently closed the book and smiled wistfully. Anne fell by his side, giving his hand a squeeze.

“Can’t keep Queen Anne away from the island too long, can we?” 

Gilbert was quiet the entire walk to the station. Any light topics Anne tested out failed miserably to lighten his mood. He met each of her hopeful smiles with unconvincing attempts of his own, every time turning his face away to the street lamps. The sky was still obsidian in the fresh hours of the morning, unpleasantly starless and cloudy, making Anne glad Gilbert had insisted on accompanying her. 

He waited on the platform as Anne purchased her ticket, shoulders slumped. With the ticket in her purse, she came to his side and placed a hand on his shoulder. Anne’s heart dropped when his heavyhearted eyes met hers. His strong facade had finally fallen, leaving a troubled frown unveiled. 

“Gilbert?” Anne asked gently. She couldn’t bring herself to ask what was wrong, unsure if she’d be able to leave if he told her. Gilbert’s gaze fell down to where she was reaching for his fingers. 

“I haven’t been entirely honest with you,” he admitted. Despite the bitter taste in her mouth, Anne schooled her features and nodded in encouragement. 

“That’s okay. You can tell me now.” She meant it. 

Behind him, a high whistle resonated within distance as the train slowly screeched began to screech to a halt. Gilbert caught Anne looking over his shoulder and a flash of panic washed over him. He followed her gaze where a handful of tired passengers boarded the train, but when he felt a soft caress touch his cheek, he whirled back to Anne. 

“Go ahead,” Anne prodded gently.

“I _really_ miss you,” he confessed breathlessly. Anne scrambled for something to say to ease his heart, but he rambled on before she could find the right words. “Bash asked you to come because he figured out how homesick I’ve been. It was never so bad because I’d always traveled to escape the realities of home. But now, with Bash and Delphine in Avonlea, and you in Charlottetown…”

Anne’s stomach twisted. “I...had no idea.” 

“I tried really hard to hide it in my letters,” Gilbert muttered. “But one of them to Bash was too vague. He made me tell him what was wrong.” 

“I should’ve been able to tell,” Anne lamented. 

“No, Anne, I made sure you wouldn’t be able to tell. I didn’t want to worry you. You’ve got too much going on.”

Anne felt like she was caught in the undertow, floundering desperately for something to say that would take the cracks in his heart and mend them instantly. Yet she knew that nothing she said could change the fact that in a few moments they’d begin another month and a half of painful separation. She wished she had thought to bring a token of home, _anything_ from the island that she could’ve stuffed into her luggage. All she had was a parting embrace, one that she wrapped around him like an old heirloom quilt. As Gilbert’s desperate arms came around her, she hoped that her warmth would linger enough to give him the strength he needed to see his heartsickness through. Anne could feel Gilbert’s breath on her throat as he heaved a sigh of relief, dissolving into her touch and allowing her to hold him up. 

“Remember what I said, alright? You’re intelligent and brave. You’ll get used to life here. If last night was any indication, you already have,” she said, determined and kind. 

He nodded against her shoulder, running his fingers over the softness of her hair with tender reverence. Behind him, the train master gave her the _Time’s Up_ glare. 

“I have to go,” Anne lamented. Gilbert squeezed his eyes shut. 

Instead of asking her to stay, as he so desperately wanted to, he pressed his lips into a thin line and nodded. “Alright.” 

A month and a half suddenly seemed like an insurmountable mountain, the end of which was deathly out of reach. Even though her limbs were weary with lack of sleep, she found the strength to pull away from him to memorize the lines of his cheeks and jaws. She’d never forget the way he looked the day she met him, or the day when he first kissed her, but she wanted to burn _today’s_ Gilbert into her memory and save it for days that were stormy and punishing. Gilbert seemed to be doing the same. 

Ever so slightly he tilted his face to her, and she met him, crashing a month’s worth of kisses to his lips until the feeling of it was unfading. His hands were under her cheeks, holding her to him until he had tasted enough of the sunshine on her lips to hold him together. 

When they broke apart, Anne leaned down to grab her carpet bag and gave Gilbert one last beaming smile. 

“How’s two letters a week sound?” 

Gilbert let out a chuckle that was rough with stifled tears. “That sounds perfect.” 

She took one step away, then two. 

“See you at Christmas.” 

“Safe travels.” 

As she boarded, the door closed behind her blocking away the fresh air for the duration of her day long journey. When she found her seat, though, she found Gilbert was still there, watching and smiling. 

Anne watched her beloved until the sight of him turned into a silhouette of shadow against the train station. Her eyelids grew heavier and heavier, but hope sparked in her chest as Gilbert heaved a sigh and stepped off the platform with a renewed strength in his shoulders. She imagined him trailing up the Toronto streets like they were Avonlea hills, sheltered in warm dew and residual moonlight. And then, she fell asleep. 

*

It was the last days of November and _several_ love letters from Anne later when Gilbert began to feel like he could actually imagine a future for himself in Toronto. It could never be a _permanent_ future, but it seemed less daunting to imagine another four years in the city—maybe even seven if he wanted to obtain his licensure here. It also meant that he decided to stop living like each day was a battle to survive until Anne and Bash’s next letters arrived. He would have to start doing things here that he liked and turn this loud, boisterous city into a home away from home. 

Gilbert went to explain all of this to Dr. Sullivan, who bid him to sit in a stiff leather chair upon seeing the young lad in the doorway. November had brought with it many dreary days of cold and early snow, but today the sun made a much needed reappearance. It filled Dr. Sullivan’s office through two small windows, drowning away the light of a small electric lamp.

“I bet you caught a few perplexed stares on your way here, a medical student wandering the humanities hallway,” Dr. Sullivan teased. He pulled his glasses from his nose and folded them into his breast pocket, peering at Gilbert curiously. 

“That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about. I was wondering if I might beg your help for something?” Gilbert replied, dropping his leather bag onto the ground beside him.

“No begging will be necessary. Your visits are always welcome. Besides, I’ve been marking freshman essays for nearly two hours and could use fresh company. What has you on the wrong side of school?” 

“When Anne was here in October, you told her about the Women in Literature class you’re offering next semester. I wanted to add it to my class schedule, but the registrar refused. She said the class is already full, and even if I got you to sign me in, she’d refuse to forward the application to the dean of the humanities college.” 

“That’s absurd. Did she give a reason?” 

“Only that with fifteen medicine and biology credits, the last thing I’ll want to do is spend my nights reading George Eliot and Jane Austen.” 

Dr. Sullivan leaned back in his chair. 

“She does make a valid point. The class _is_ a lot of reading—one or two texts a week. Emily tells me you’re already studying more than any other student she’s had. Are you sure you’re prepared for the extra coursework?” 

“Anne is back home taking on two fields of study. What good would I be if I couldn’t handle one extra class? I’m determined to do it. I only came because there’s the matter of the class being full.” 

“And Miss Eaglen in the registrar’s office taking your fate into her own hands.” 

“That too.” 

Pushing himself back from his chair, Dr. Sullivan ambled over to his filing cabinet and pulled open a raggedy drawer. He retrieved a stack of type-written pages and turned them toward the sunlight so that he might see more clearly. 

“The class is indeed full, but half the seats will be free by the time we finish introducing the syllabus. If you come on the first day, you’ll have nothing to worry about. I’ll speak with Miss Eaglen.” 

Gilbert blinked. “Pardon, did you just say that half the class is going to withdraw?”

Dr. Sullivan didn’t look up from his roster. “I did.” 

“People can’t hate reading that much.” 

“No, but they can and will despise a black professor enough to drop the class.” 

Gilbert’s face fell. He couldn’t imagine being accepted into the University of Toronto, only to reject a member of its faculty based on such...asinine prejudice. A faculty member with a PhD, campus wide acclaim, and a kind disposition, at that! How could anyone claim to have gotten the fullest extent of their UofT education if they closed off their minds and only listened to viewpoints of people just like them?

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a student so upset on my behalf,” noted Dr. Sullivan, interrupting Gilbert’s mental tirade. Gilbert looked up, only to feel his cheeks locked in a tight scowl. He straightened his chair, expelling his frustration with a small sigh. 

“It just hits a bit close to home.” 

Dr. Sullivan sat back down at his desk, waiting patiently for Gilbert to elaborate. 

“My entire family is black,” Gilbert clarified softly. “My brother, my niece, his mother, my late sister-in-law, her son. It’s not the same, but it breaks my heart to watch them struggle in my hometown, the home that I shared with them. I had hoped that the cruel behavior they encountered could be blamed on the small-town mindset of our community. I didn’t expect to cross the country and find it here in the city too.” 

“Every corner of the world has its own brand of enmity and unfairness. You won’t be able to escape it. You could take your brother and his family across the Atlantic and you would find this to be true.” 

“I _have_ ,” Gilbert chuckled bitterly. “The states, Cuba, Trinidad, Spain. And you’re right, in each country they looked at Sebastian like he was living on the wrong planet.” 

“I know the feeling.” 

Gilbert wasn’t sure what to say next. Part of him wanted to apologize, but for what? What was some fruitless apology supposed to fix after a lifetime of enduring injustice? It wouldn’t make Dr. Sullivan’s students stay, it wouldn’t make it easier for Delly to go to school, it wouldn’t erase a lifetime of service from Bash or Hazel. 

He shook his head. If Anne was here, she’d know what to say. 

He must’ve looked particularly defeated, because Dr. Sullivan only smiled and said, “Alright, Gilbert. How about a proposition?” 

“A proposition, sir?” 

“I propose an independent study. You’ll complete the same assignments as your peers, but will report for class with me in my office twice a week. You’ll have to come prepared with topics for discussion and you won’t be permitted to cut class. _And_ no asking Anne to summarize the books for you. You must complete all the reading yourself.” 

When he was done, he extended a hand across his desk and waited for Gilbert’s approval.

Gilbert only had to ponder his options a moment before a grin blossomed on his face. He shook Dr. Sullivan’s hand more excitedly than was permitted for a gentleman and said, “Yes, I think that arrangement sounds wonderful. Thank you so much!”

“Don’t worry about the registrar. She’ll only change her mind with your advisor’s approval, but I’m sure Emily will be more than happy to give it.”

Hurriedly grabbing his things, Gilbert clutched his bag to his chest. 

“I’m thrilled, sir. Thank you again.” 

Dr. Sullivan chuckled, sliding his glasses back onto his face and leaning forward over the stack of freshman essays before him. As Gilbert rose to leave, he called out, “Gil, one more thing.” 

Gilbert paused in the doorway, glancing over his shoulder. 

“Yes?” 

“What’s the real reason you wanted to take the class?” 

The lad shrugged. “You know I love to read.” 

Dr. Sullivan was not wholly convinced. 

“And?” 

“ _And_ it’ll give me something to talk to Anne about in my letters,” he confessed. Dr. Sullivan threw his hands in the air and Gilbert let out a loud laugh. “She’s an English major, I have to stay on my toes! But I really do like to read, I promise!” 

“You better. You’ve got a lot of it next semester!”

*

There was no other explanation, except that she was in trouble—so much so, that she was about to be reprimanded by the oldest and sternest professor in the entire English department. Professor Wood was due any second and would no doubt deliver a fierce verbal lashing. Why else would this particular group of schoolmates be summoned into this dim classroom so late in the day? Anne scanned the room, counting three faces that she had...stated an opinion at. Sternly. Perhaps a bit loudly. It had only been a matter of time before her classmates banded against her and the day had finally come. 

But who could blame her? It had long been established that Anne was _anything_ but timid and demure, so certainly if they said obtuse things in class, it had to be someone’s job to correct them. If her professors were planning on merely nodding and humming _“Hmm, yes, interesting point,”_ the task would just have to go to her. 

“Do any of you know what this is about?” murmured Janie Paul, the only person in the group Anne _hadn’t_ corrected in class. Mostly, though, this could be attributed to the fact that Janie Paul rarely said...well, anything

“We all know what this is about. Or _who,_ ” lamented another classmate. 

Four sets of eyes slowly turned to Anne, who leaned against one of the desks with crossed arms.

“It could be about anything!” argued Anne. “Unless you all have been conspiring.” 

“Oh please,” scoffed Anne’s worst nemesis. “Like we’d even need to. I bet right now the entire faculty is gathered in the conference room deciding whether or not they want to allow you to remain enrolled at Queens. We’re only here because they want witnesses.”

“That’s preposterous!” Anne snapped. 

“Why? You’re a disturbance to class and detrimental to the distinguished education we’re supposed to be receiving.”

“Having a bright mind and a quick wit is not a _detriment,_ Georgie Beckham. Nor is having your opinions challenged. In fact, I’d say it’s rather good for you.” 

Anne wondered that there were _many_ things that would do Georgie Beckham some good. A change of heart, a swift kick to the behind, a _bath_. He was a shortish young man with flat yellow hair that stuck his head with sweat, grease, and dirt. The bottom of his chin was tan from always walking around with his nose pointed up, and he glided about as if he were Queen Victoria herself. Anne had decided with a fury that of all the disagreeable people she’d met, Georgie Beckham was by far the worst. She hated him more than she hated Gilbert the first time she met him, and Georgie wasn’t nearly as handsome _or_ charming. 

Georgie’s snobbish nose crinkled when Anne spoke, as if her very essence smelled too strong, like stale perfume or a full garden. 

“When they kick you out of Queens, you’ll have to get married to escape ruin and there’s no way you’ll find someone who’ll want you,” he sneered.

For the briefest of moments, Anne wondered what _would_ happen to her if Georgie was right. She supposed she wouldn’t have the money or credibility to attend a different school. Instead, she’d just help on the farm until Gilbert graduated college, then they’d get married. For an even briefer moment, Anne pondered what it would mean if Gilbert decided not to marry her. Such imaginings were too painful, and she pushed aside her doubt. 

“I suppose I’m fortunate you’re full of hot air, then,” Anne stated bitterly. 

Just then, the classroom door swung open and in walked Professor Agnes Wood, a creaky woman of ninety who still had the energy to teach British Classics and Senior Shakespeare twice a day. Upon stepping into the room, she sensed the restive atmosphere and gave Anne a wary look. 

“Stirring trouble already, Miss Shirley?” 

“No ma’am. We were just anxious to uncover why you’ve called us all today.” 

“All will be revealed presently. Take a seat.”

The five wary students did as they were told, Georgie taking the seat furthest from Anne. Professor Wood moved to the front of the class, commanding attention in its rawest form with a domineering scrutinization. 

“Thank you all for arriving in a timely manner. I’m sure receiving this summons has made you curious to the reasoning.” She paused, as if waiting for nods of agreement, but was met with five frightened faces—one especially freckled and pale. To prevent further trepidation, she continued.

“It is my pleasure to inform you of a potential opportunity that has befallen you. You five have been chosen from the entirety of the Education program’s long list of pupils. As you know, Queens is a traditionally education focused college. Many of Canada’s greatest educators have earned their teaching certificates within these walls, though the best of the best were granted this offer. Anne, you look as though you’re a second from keeling over.” 

Anne’s head snapped up. 

“Oh, I’m just full of suspense,” she admitted eagerly. “Please, continue!” 

“Two of you will be granted the opportunity to assist real teachers in their classrooms for the duration of a month. As student teachers, you’ll be expected to aid the instructor in their daily lessons and perhaps lead a few exercises yourself. The assignment is planned for September of next year, however the application process may take some time. The chosen candidates will be announced finals week in May. ”

“If we’d be teaching in the fall, won’t that put us behind in credit hours?” the classmate at Anne’s right asked. Anne rolled her eyes. What were _credit hours_ when there was real actual teaching to be done?

“As a full time hands-on assistant, you would be granted nine credits of your recommended fifteen. Your remaining two classes would be completed via correspondence until you could resume them October 1st. Though only two of you will be chosen, the rest of you needn’t fear. Other opportunities may arise in the coming years and you all are model candidates. I’m sure you have questions, however, and I’ll endeavor to answer them.” 

Questions exploded out of the students the way volcanoes erupt after years of boiling. Yet, of the students bursting at the seams with questions, there were two who remained painfully silent. Anne was one, lost in the whirlpool of her thoughts. But in the madness, she realized with narrow eyes there was one more person who was just as quiet and determined as she was—Georgie. 

*

> _My dear man, who is here with me in spirit and heart,_
> 
> _I would like to begin with a disclaimer: Your last letter had me blushing as much, if not more, than you surely intended. I see through your little tricks, Gilbert Blythe, and let me say, I delight at turning to mush upon reading your words. I will acknowledge them in due time, but first, a matter of utmost importance._
> 
> _I. HATE. GEORGIE. BECKHAM. I can’t recall if his name has snuck its slimy way into one of my letters before, but here it has made a most unwelcome appearance. And yes, I know hate is a term that Marilla would reprimand me for, yet it cannot and will not be denied that he is the_ _worst_ _person I’ve ever met. Gilbert, I cannot emphasize this enough. I know that in the past, I have not been an excellent judge of character of the male sex, but Georgie has done more than tug my braid and call me carrots. He’s bitter towards women, worships himself in class, and once, I heard him say the most atrocious things about the people of the Bog. Billy Andrews has met his match. And worst of all, Gil-est of Gils, we’re competing for the same student teaching position!_
> 
> _I see I am getting quite ahead of myself. Allow me a moment to compose myself. There._
> 
> _I have been chosen along with four other students to compete for an opportunity to assist a teacher in an actual school. Professor Wood even thinks that if our progress is satisfactory enough, that we’ll be permitted to lead exercises all on our own. Think of how much I could learn, how ahead of my classmates I’d be! Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, a bona fide teacher! Or, very nearly one!_
> 
> _Of course, there is the chance that Georgie could win the other slot if I receive the first. Oh, this troubles me almost as much as if he were to get the position_ _instead_ _of me! I would fail at the assistantship miserably if he were there, always criticizing every little thing I did. It can’t happen, Gilbert!_
> 
> _It isn’t entirely up to chance. I’ll just have to work very hard to put forth the best application Queens has ever seen. It’s quite involved too—essays, interviews, observations of my character. I’ll have to be on my very best behavior from now until May. Oh, and could I send you my first application essay? I’m writing about integration of community and its positive impact on children. I know you have plenty of reading of your own, so please don’t put yourself out._
> 
> _Now! That is quite enough about schoolmate nuisances. How are you, my darling love? I’ve had the most peculiar feeling that you’ve had a very pleasant week since your last letter. Is that because Christmas holiday is very nearly upon us and it’s a mere fortnight until we’ll be reunited? That means we have precisely one week to devise our disguises, and I don’t mean fake mustaches and hats! My brand of deception is the flirtatious sort, involving carriage rides with you and promises to Marilla to not wander from Lover’s Lane. Except! We’ll wander off the road and find a place where even the most wandering eyes cannot amble. The falling snow will cover the evidence and I will have some much needed quality time with my ever-captivating suitor. How many kisses shall I reserve for you?_
> 
> _Oh, how easy it would be to spend the rest of the evening writing the world’s longest letter to you. Ten pages on the sweetness of your eyes, another twenty on how divine it is to be wrapped in your warmth, tucked tightly into your arms. Instead, I must direct the vigor in my hand to many drafts of this application essay and begin planning on the second. When the application process is over in May, I’ll have all summer to venerate every ounce of you. And remember, sweet one, I don’t do a thing half-way._
> 
> _So for now, I’ll sign off. As always, I miss you dearly. I feel like Mr. Rochester did when he thought Jane was going to leave him. If I tug this cord around my rib, will you feel it in Toronto, tugging on yours? Are we still connected in heart, mind, and spirit? I believe we are._
> 
> _Reader, I love you._
> 
> _Anne_
> 
> _*_

The two weeks until winter holiday passed with surprising ease. The winter sun, which had gained a habit of suspending over the sky for long hours at a time, seemed to make the days pass at a bearable rate. Anne was relieved to find that finals week wasn’t nearly as dreary as the sophomores had cautioned. She studied long hours by her window, and found her concentration honed to perfection under a bright sun. Exams came and passed, and though she was confident she’d championed them all, she couldn’t feel complete freedom until she was home at Green Gables. When the Carmody-bound train screeched off toward home, Anne leaned her head on Diana’s shoulder and let out a soft sigh. 

“Tired, Anne?” asked Diana, leaning her head onto Anne’s hair. 

“A bit. That sigh just now was one of relief. American Literature and Geometry may distract one from the strains of homesickness, but college is nothing compared to being home.” 

“I daresay I could weather any sort of sickness if you were beside me. I’m so glad I’m only taking a forty minute train ride and not a forty day trek across the ocean.” 

Anne hugged Diana’s arm, bringing Diana’s piano-playing fingers to her lips.

“If you had gone to Paris afterall, I’m certain I would have perished. Now we have all month to revisit our old haunts and relive at least some of our youth.” 

The train pulled into the Carmody station, pulling Anne out of her light sleep. The world outside moved by slowly as Anne nearly leapt across Diana’s lap to look out at the train platform. Among the many faces of the waiting and leaving, Anne couldn’t find Matthew or Marilla. For a moment, she wondered if something had gone wrong.

“Is that Sebastian?” asked Diana, pointing to the far left of the platform.

Anne grinned. Sure enough, there was Bash talking to Diana’s father in a casual manner. He wore two scarves wrapped around his face to block out the chill, but his eyes were unmistakable and he was wearing one of Gilbert’s old hats. 

Knocking into some disgruntled passengers, Anne scurried as fast as she could off the train and over to Bash. He caught sight of her fiery hair among the crowd and stopped what he was saying mid-phrase. 

“Now there’s a sight for sore eyes! Hello Anne,” he beamed.

Before she could think better of it, she jumped into his arms and pressed a warm kiss to the scarves over his cheek. 

“My, Anne, you’re still quite public about your displays of affection,” commented Mr. Barry, who glanced nervously around the scowls of nearby travellers. 

Anne pulled back with a chuckle. 

“I do wish you would forget you ever saw that, Mr. Barry. Your family is far too close to Rachel Lynde.” 

“Forget what?” Bash asked, but Anne waved her hand. 

“Nothing! Nothing!” Before he could argue, she picked her bags back up. “Are you here to pick me up?” 

“If you need a ride back home to Green Gables, I’d be happy to drive you, but no, I’m not here for you. I’m here for Gilbert.” 

Anne’s heart jumped into her throat. 

“Gilbert isn’t due back until tomorrow,” she stated, failing miserably at getting her hopes up. 

“No, _you_ weren’t due back until tomorrow. Gilbert was due back today.” 

“But I marked my calendar as soon as I got his letter. I wrote to Matthew and Marilla and told them today.”

“Your calendar can say what it wants,” interrupted Bash. His gaze drifted behind her shoulder. “But he’s right there.” 

And he was. Marching through the crowd was a young man with snowflakes crowning his curly head and a blush from the chill on his dimples. The sight nearly brought Anne to her knees. She hadn’t realized how desperately she needed to see him, how dull the ache in her heart had grown in their separation. Because she was a woman of very little self-control, she cried out his name above the noise of the chatter with a delighted laugh. His attention snapped to her and he fumbled with his bag. He matched her elated laughter, walking as fast as he could through the web of people. 

Anne shoved her bag into Bash’s arms and rushed to meet Gilbert halfway. When he was within reach, he made no greeting or polite salutations. Instead, he grabbed her face in his hand and kissed her in front of the entire train platform. He must’ve felt Anne’s knees go limp the second he tasted her bottom lip, because he quickly wrapped his arms across her back and held her to him. 

Claiming the last bit of propriety she could, she pushed his chest and forced herself away. Gilbert chased her mouth, but sighed in resignation when she stuck a finger to his lips.

“Sorry, can’t help it,” he murmured. His breath was steam against her lips. “You just grow more beautiful by the day. Takes a lad off guard after a month.”

“Gilbert!” Anne chuckled, blushing. 

“I’m serious! Exponential growth. I may have to start writing my will.” 

“Stop,” reprimanded Anne, but her sweetheart knew she meant quite the opposite. “Where did you come from? You said you were coming tomorrow!” 

“No silly, I said I was coming _today_. You were the one arriving home tomorrow. I even planned to pick you up tomorrow and surprise you.” 

“Well, you’ve done that.” She froze. “Does that mean we were on the same train the entire time and didn’t know it!?” 

“Probably,” Gilbert smiled, kissing her knuckles and earning a few doey-eyed looks from passing ladies. “We have nearly all month to make up for it. I was promised disguises and secret trysts.”

“So far, you’re getting the secret part all wrong,” a voice chimed in behind her. Gilbert rolled his eyes at Bash’s knowing smirk. “Say Anne, is this what Mr. Barry meant about public displays of affection?” 

Anne tugged his hat clean over his eyes, making Gilbert laugh so loudly, someone beside him jumped. 

“Alright lovebirds. Let’s fly on home to our _separate_ nests.”

*

Christmas was a jubilant affair, the Cuthbert dinner table growing by two members for the third year in a row. When they realized that Hazel and Elijah filled the last available seats, Anne wondered who would stumble into their family this year and if they’d mind sitting at a separate table. With a child, a courting couple, and a spirit of song, the home was filled with endless moments of noise and joy. 

But there were some quiet moments too. Anne and Gilbert particularly tried to find as many as they could together, but often found themselves interrupted by the baby, or by Bash’s halfway-intoxicated teasing. By the end of the night, Marilla had sensed her daughter’s frustration and taken her guests into the parlor where they could sit and converse. Anne stayed behind, tugging on Gilbert’s sleeve before he could walk away. He turned around, a happy smile on his face. 

“Could you give me my Christmas present now?” asked Anne timidly. Gilbert’s face fell. His eyes focused on the cracks of the floorboards, as if he couldn’t bear to look at Anne’s disappointment.

“Love, I uh...I spent all my money on the ticket to come home. I don’t have anything for you, I’m sorry.” 

But Anne shook her head, lifting his chin with a few fingers. 

“I didn’t mean like that. You know I don’t mind if you don’t have anything for me.” 

“Then what—?” 

Anne revealed a small velvet pouch from behind her back. For a split second, Gilbert’s heart stopped, thinking that it was his mother’s ring she had found. For an even shorter moment, he realized if she had asked him to propose to her, he would’ve done it without hesitation and against his logical reasoning. There was a different swell in his heart when he realized that the bag didn’t contain a ring, but several scraps of paper. 

“My letter,” he realized. 

“What’s left of it, at least. Do you suppose you could piece it together?” 

“I think so. I may not remember it verbatim, but the sentiment is impossible to forget.” 

He spilled the torn pieces onto the floor, sorting out the words so he could see them all at once. Anne waited eagerly at his side, her hand finding its way to his hair as he began to piece the fragmented letter together. She tried not to read it as he strung sentences together, but couldn’t help but be drawn to the words _affection_ and _desire._

“You really did a number on this, didn’t you?” teased Gilbert when he found a few pieces with a stray letter or two, detached from its word. 

“Whatever you did to mine must have been worse since it _disappeared._ ” 

“Hey now,” protested Gilbert, smirking. “I can hardly be held accountable for something I never knew existed.” 

“For all you know, it was on the bottom of your shoe, trekked into the mud and turned to mush.” 

“Good thing it was short enough for you to remember it. I keep the second edition in my bedside drawer and read it before I go to sleep.” 

“ _Second edition_ ,” laughed Anne, leaning her head onto his shoulder. She turned her face to the fire and let her eyes fall close. Beneath her, Gilbert’s arm moved as he worked. 

She didn’t realize she was dozing off until she heard, “Alright, Anne-girl. All finished.”

Rubbing the haze of sleep out of her eye, she peered down at the letter before her. It was pieced together like a puzzle with careful consideration with a few pieces from the sides missing. A quick surveyance of the writing told Anne that she’d still be able to read it, regardless of its inadequacies. With a steadying breath, Anne moved her eyes to the first line. 

_Dear Anne…_

Gilbert pressed his lips to her cheek and rose to move into the other room. 

“Where are you going?” asked Anne. Gilbert gave a small smile.

“I mean every word of that letter, but I’m still a bit embarrassed to watch you _read_ it.” 

“You write me love letters all the time.” 

“But this is _the_ love letter. The first. The ones I write you now are different because I’m well-practiced at it. But this one...It was my swan song, a last move of desperation.”

Anne bit back a smile at the rosy blush on his cheeks, anxious to finally see what all the fuss was about. Still, she mustered up some patience and reached out her hand to him. 

“You don’t have to watch me read it, but stay by my side, will you?” 

She didn’t have to ask twice. 

“Alright.”

He settled beside her and took her hand in his, running his fingers over her knuckles and palm while she read. Anne, on her part, moved through the letter deliberately, letting every wash of emotion and reaction occur as it would. She’d forgotten that Gilbert had been longing like this, even during his involvement with Winifred. When the words became blurry with her tears, Anne read even slower and squeezed Gilbert’s hand in hers. 

_With love, Gilbert._

She read that line over and over, before glancing briefly at the postscript, then bringing herself back to the top. Gilbert was quiet beside her, letting her take the time she needed. 

Anne’s heart was heavy, saturated with a million feelings she couldn’t quite place. She wanted to say that things would’ve been so different if she had read the letter when she’d found it in the first place, but what-if’s didn’t do her any good now. What mattered in this moment was the person beside her, whose heart seemed to beat in unison with hers. A person who was waiting very patiently for her reaction, even though it left him vulnerable and exposed. 

Her palm found his face, and the second his hesitant eyes found hers, she kissed him slow and purposeful. She hoped that he could feel the years of longing she’d felt for him, the same way her letter had made her feel. She hoped it was electricity from the top of his head down to the soles of his feet, long and warm, unrelenting in its ensnarement. 

When they broke apart, Anne gazed intently down at her hazel-eyed boy and counted the freckles around his nose. His heart was wide open on his sleeve, in his eyes, in his smile—beating and loving on full display without fear. 

“I feel like I could take on the world just now,” Gilbert admitted blissfully. 

“There’s two of us now,” noted Anne lovingly. “Let’s do it together.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love to hear your theories about where you think this is headed. I'd even love to hear about you—how are you feeling? How is your July so far? 
> 
> As always, feel free to come say hello on tumblr ~ @royalcordelia. I'm also on twitter now, @sweetdaisytessa, which is also a place you can come and chat with me! If no one has told you today, I love you muchly! Thank you for reading. ♥


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